


you're not what I was looking for

by captain_bucky_writesaswell



Category: Cursed (TV 2020)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, F/M, First Kiss, Found Family, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Childhood Trauma, Lancelot's redemption of sorts, Magic and powers, Mild/Moderate Violence, Mutual Pining, Post Season 1, Slow Burn, Strong Female Characters, The Weeping Monk basically adopts Squirrel, mentions of injury, softness and tension and all the good stuff in between, touch-starved Lancelot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:21:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 139,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28075371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captain_bucky_writesaswell/pseuds/captain_bucky_writesaswell
Summary: A wounded Weeping Monk and the young boy, Squirrel, are captured into the camp of the last remaining true Fey queen who is forced to hold the Monk's life in her hands. Deciding to let the Monk live was not going to be easy, and the young Fey queen slowly learns that there is more to the monster than what he seems. Between them they set out to return the boy to his people, but trouble always follows where death goes, and feelings develop in the most unexpected of ways.
Relationships: Squirrel | Percival/The Weeping Monk | Lancelot (Cursed), The Weeping Monk | Lancelot (Cursed)/Original Character(s), The Weeping Monk|Lancelot (Cursed)/Original Female Character
Comments: 148
Kudos: 78





	1. prologue - the burning night

There was once a time, in a not _too_ distant past, when Human and Fey kind lived together peacefully, governed by two thrones, and ruled successfully by one court sharing one land. The Human and the Fey kings worked together to rule all who lived within this land. Each throne sought to represent the voices of each of their kinds, and all creatures abided by the same laws, as set by the noble court.

The Human kings ruled well alongside the Fey kings and queens for over two hundred years since the court accord began. The blood of the Human royals came and went and changed as noble houses were brought together for the throne. The royal Fey however, were an ancient bloodline from which all other Fey kinds were born. Throughout the land, there was no other clan alike to the royal _Sunborn_ _Fey_ , with hair as white as fresh snowfall, and eyes as golden as their namesake. The Sunborn were kind and just and pure of heart, revered by all who knew them. The Human king, _Constantine_ , was similarly just and respected by all peoples. But his only son, _Uther_ , was not.

Uther was thirsty for glory like no other king before him since the creation of the court accord. His ear was heavily influenced by the workings of the church, who had begun to turn away from the agreed peace between the Fey and Human kinds. A young and devious monk named _Carden_ sought to influence the young prince further into going against Constantine’s will for unity. And so, when the old King’s time came to an end, Brother Carden struck whilst the iron was hot, and with King Uther’s encouragement, the cause of the Red Paladins was born. King Uther’s first act was to abolish the reign of the Sunborn throne.

And so on one frightful night, it was done.

The Red Paladins massacred the Fey royalty and court nobility without warning, along with any Fey who stood in their way. They burned the homes and torched the villages of Fey surrounding the Sunborn house for several leagues before the word got out of their wrongdoing. Fey villages further afield gathered what they could and retreated to forests, mountains and river lands, seeking to avoid the path of the Red Brothers. Some humans aligned themselves with the Fey, but most were too weak to fight for their neighbours. And from the spoils and riches of _The Burning Night_ , came _The Golden Throne_ , of which the young King Uther sat as the sole ruler of the kingdom.

Any Fey were outcast and forced to start their lives again. However, little did the humans know that two Sunborn Fey escaped. And now, some twenty-five years after the Burning Night, their grown daughter remains as the last living hope for the Fey. 


	2. a greeting to remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Weeping Monk meets the one person who could perhaps become his downfall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I have reached peak level of quarantine boredom and decided to write something for TWM because he's just such a good (bad) character and I am wishing for a redemption arc for this boy in season 2.  
> Anyway, I haven't written in a while and I sort of know where this is going (but not really, its a work in progress). So if you read this, please let me know in the comments if you want me to continue with it :)  
> There is some loose connection right now to Arthurian legend, mainly just names for the moment but I will try to bring more into it in later chapters. We're kind of set in the canon universe, but i haven't got any plans for Nimue/Merlin/Canon Uther or Arthur or anyone that I haven't mentioned yet. As I said, work in progress :D  
> I hope you enjoy, CB x

[[Character Moodboards](https://captainbucky-yt.tumblr.com/post/637793095950450688/mood-boards-for-my-weeping-monk-x-oc-fanfic)]

The Monk sighed heavily as he eyed the path up ahead from the saddle of his great horse. From the scent all around him, he could tell that they were heading towards a Fey camp. His ribs ached like they were never going to heal, and the sleeping boy in front of him pressing into his chest, only served to make the pain worse. _The child will be safe with them,_ he reminded himself over and over again. He gently spurred his mount forwards and down through the trees. It was a tight squeeze at first for his horse to pass through the initial dense forest. Once they came out of the thick woodland into a more sparsely populated area of trees, the Monk could sense that they were not alone. He hoped that whoever was there could see that they were no threat, though he couldn’t be sure. _T_ _hey'll think I’ve hurt the boy._

 _“_ Wake up” the Monk nudged the boy with his free hand which was resting on his own thigh. At the lack of response, he nudged him again “Percival, _wake up”_.

“ _Whaaaaaat?_ ” Groaned the boy, stifling a yawn as he sat himself upright.

“Eyes up, stay quiet," the Monk warned.

~•~

They carried on through the forest, the horse’s gentle lull almost putting the boy back to sleep again. The Monk knew that they were getting close when the scent of Fey began to overwhelm his senses. A twig cracked somewhere and the steady horse beneath them snickered. “Easy, Goliath” the Monk reassured his friend, whilst the boy gently stroked by the side of its mane.

The horse’s ease was quickly broken as a creature decorated in leafy camouflage dropped out from a tree and landed beside them, startling the horse into a half rear which only caused the Monk more pain as he gripped to keep the boy in place. Four more creatures whom he now recognised as Fey dropped to the ground from the canopy above as well. One lunged forward and grabbed a hold of the horse’s reins while another reached for the Monk’s sword in its scabbard. The Monk swore under his breath and hoped that the boy was too preoccupied with what was going on to have heard him, only to have the boy repeat his curse a few seconds later. The Monk turned his head towards the Fey who was now pointing the Monk’s own sword at his chest. A face of recognition flashed across the Fey’s face when he realised who he had before him.

“It's the Weeping Monk!” He shouted to his comrades who inched closer to the pair, their own weapons drawn. “You’re coming with us”, he threatened. 

~•~

The Monk quickly got bored with the way the five Fey surrounded them on their short journey to their camp, weapons drawn and pointed towards himself and his horse. The Monk thought of several ways that he could easily dismiss the fey, if his body wasn't so in need of rest. One kept his sword trained on the boy. _Touch him and I will kill you_. The one leading their train tugged on Goliath’s bridle a little too harshly for the Monk’s liking. _Pull him any harder and I will kill you too,_ he thought to himself. The Monk stayed quiet for their journey and let the boy annoy their abductors with his nonsensical babbling.

Mothers cried out for their children to come back to them as the Monk and the boy were led into the Fey camp hidden deep within the green forest. The boy looked around with his mouth agape at all the different kinds of Fey that were around them. Many unsheathed their weapons, or picked up an object to use as a weapon, when they saw the Monk entering their home. Some screamed. Some spat towards them as they were led past. For the sake of the boy, the Monk tried to retreat inside of the hood of his cloak which was hanging lazily behind him over Goliath’s rump. He knew that his death would be likely, but at least the boy would be safe with his own kind.

“Hanna! We caught the murderer!” The one leading them by Goliath’s reins shouted into the gathering crowd. People came out from their huts and tents, shielding their children from _the_ _murderer’s_ sight to observe the spectacle of the capture of the famous Weeping Monk, _the one who cries._ The Monk’s chest started to feel like it was caving in, heavy and weighted like a tonne of stone. He glanced around, wanting to escape. _Needing to escape_. He hadn’t felt this helpless in years. With no weapon, his body battered from his fight with the Trinity Guard days prior and the amassing number of fey surrounding them, he felt like there was no hope. Suddenly he felt his horse shift from beneath him as he was roughly pulled to the ground. He landed with a heavy thud and felt like all of the air was pushed out from his lungs. He closed his eyes and groaned at the pain in his ribs as he felt small hands panicking and struggling to try to pull him up. Larger hands came behind him and grabbed his shoulders. The mass of Fey shouted curses at him as he was tugged to his knees. _Where’s Percival?_

For a second he wanted to be sick, as the contents of his head and practically empty stomach spun round and around. The hood of his cloak was ripped back from his head and a hand forced him by his hair to look upwards. _So dizzy_. A stinging slap across his cheek forced his eyes to open, meeting the face of who he presumed in that moment was the clan leader, and the bringer of his fate. 

_“_ Well, hello there sunshine _”._ The man towering above him greeted him in a devilish tone that echoes the stuff of his nightmares. His face was dark and warm like the very earth he stood on. His hair black as night, curled around and back in dreads to expose a pair of sturdy horns from the top of his forehead.

 _A Tusk_.

The Monk’s eyes grew heavy as he half collapsed into whatever weight was at his side, _Percival,_ he realised. A second set of footsteps came to a stand still near to him. The Monk gathered all of his strength to glance up towards them.

“Where is Ari?” The devilish voice from before took a deeper, steadier tone.

“Hunting.” A female voice replied within an instant.

“Summon her, she will want to see this”.

With that order, the fey woman clad in blue nodded. She hastily moved away from where the Monk was kneeling, supported only by the weight of the boy and held down at his shoulders by a younger Tusk behind him. The woman raised her leather-bound arm towards the sky where an earthy green hawk swiftly came from the trees to make its perch. The Monk could not hear what was whispered between her and the hawk, which quickly took flight up into the sky through the leafy canopy above. The Monk followed the hawk’s flight path upwards with his eyes as it veered to follow the sun’s light in the West, before it disappeared out of sight. The tusk moved a step closer to the pair on the ground and eyed the Monk. He began to circle around them both, maintaining a couple of lengths away as he twirled his sharpened axe with his wrist as if it were nothing more than a feather. The gathering crowd murmured amongst themselves with some voicing their opinions on the Monk’s fate louder than others. For once the boy stayed quiet, and for this the Monk was thankful, as he had endured the boy’s incessant babbling for several days now. If he had known all it took was a menacingly built Tusk and perhaps a hundred fey, all armed with weapons to varying degrees to get the boy to shut up, he would have brought him to the camp a lot sooner.

After what seemed like an eternity, a sound resembling a bugle horn’s song resonated through to the clearing and was shortly followed by the increasingly loud thunder of hooves along the muddy ground. He could hear twigs and branches snapping under hoof as the rider drew closer. The crowd seemed to turn their heads towards the edge of the clearing where a trail led out to the east and disappeared into the forest. Some began to stamp their feet steadily, while others clashed whatever was in their hands together or drummed their palms against their chests. The circling Tusk stopped his route and squared his stance up before the pair. The Monk felt the boy cower somewhat into his side yet still held him steady, the Monk’s left arm slung around the boy and over his shoulder while his right lay limp by the Monk’s side. He felt the grip of the boy’s small right hand grasp a little tighter onto the cloak where he was holding the Monk by his waist. As if on cue, the Tusk gave a sly grin to the Monk as the horse and rider appeared from the edge of the clearing. The gathered crowd parted with ease as the rider cantered into view. The Monk tore his eyes away from the Tusk. He didn’t know what he was supposed to expect of the rider, but he should have guessed it was this.

Stories of the last remaining outlaw Fey royals were nothing more than legend to the Brothers, for they arrogantly could not conceive the idea of their survival after the sacking of the Sunborn Fey throne during the Burning Night. The Monk had heard whispers of planned revolts by the Fey, which himself and his red Brothers had quickly put to rest as they swept their way through the land, laying many Fey camps to waste. The Monk, however, did not dismiss the idea of a remaining Sunborn Fey entirely. 

The rider pulled her dun coloured horse to a halt just behind the Tusk and dismounted. The steed was impressive, tall and well built as if it were a warrior itself, yet moved with a certain grace. It’s limbs looked as though they had walked through a mountain of coal, whereas its golden coat was discoloured at the rear by the blood of the young buck slung over its rump. A young boy ran forward from the crowd and took hold of the reins above the horse’s mouth. The woman turned and the Monk knew then for sure that those legends of the last Fey royals were indeed truth. The Monk could have easily mistaken her for any other ordinary Fey if it weren’t for her royally white platinum hair, which was half tied back away from her face, the rest hanging down to touch the base of her shoulder blades. She gave a curt nod to the boy at her horse’s mouth as she approached the Tusk, a mere hand or twos width shorter than him, who’s height seemed to rival the Monk’s own. Her face hardened as she looked down at them kneeling on the muddy ground.

“What have we here?” She asked the Tusk dryly whilst staring down the Monk as if she were pushing him into the ground with her gaze. He felt the boy beside him breathing more quickly than before, making it apparent than he knows who they’re dealing with now. Or perhaps it was out of fear, for the woman’s face was distorted by the splattering of half dried blood which carried on down her dark leather bodice. A sight which would make any man shiver. The Monk wondered if it were just the buck that she had indeed hunted today.

“They rode in on that black beauty not too long ago" the Tusk answered, gesturing towards their mount tied at the edge of the clearing. Her eyes drifted quickly to eye the horse and then rested back on the Monk and the boy who was holding him upright. _A Fey boy_. Her eyebrows knitted at the revelation and then her face pulled back into her mask from before. "The tree scouts caught them, he's unarmed" the Tusk continued. 

“The Weeping Monk”. She stated plainly, a hint of hatred in her voice. _What is the Weeping Monk doing in my forest, alive… and with a Fey child?_ It made her blood boil, but she kept her composure.

“It appears so”. The Tusk attested smugly almost with a laugh. He dropped to crouch in the Monk’s eye line and rested forward on the hilt of his double headed axe.

The bloodied woman took in the Monk’s state. His face and neck were littered with piercing wounds where blood had dried and set into his skin. His jaw was bruised and from the way that his breath was laboured, she could tell that his ribs were probably bruised too. She wondered if she should just kill him where he knelt, it would be easy enough for her in his condition.

The Tusk rose sharply back onto his feet and turned his body out to the crowd, “What should we do with this here _Monk_ , hey?” He raised his arms and his axe to the air as if to encourage the gathered Fey for answers to his jest. The woman stood still before them as the Tusk riled up the crowd. “Should we… _beat him_?” The Tusk jeered, almost excitedly, to which he was met with roaring approvals. He continued to reel off other methods of bringing the Monk pain while the woman remained watching him from a few feet away. Her eyes felt like they were burrowing deep into his soul as they shone in the dying sunlight like the golden fires he had so often walked through. They were _almost_ _magical_.

The boy’s eyes only grew wider as his face darted from Fey to Fey like some small animal caught in a trap. “ _No_ ” He pleaded to every one of the Tusk’s jests at the Monk’s demise. “No!” He begged louder and louder each time but the crowd only ignored him further and raised their voices higher, stomping their feet and clashing their items together like before.

Under her unrelenting gaze and the considerable noise of the Fey rattling through his head, the Monk felt weaker and weaker. _Defeated_. He could take holding his head up no longer and dropped his chin to his chest, revealing the carved cross on the crown of his head to the golden eyed woman and those around her. He thought he heard her breathe in suddenly but it was drowned out by the chants of protest from the boy. _Percival_.

“You can’t kill him, _he’s Fey_!” The boy screamed out and the crowd went silent.

Though his mind was tired, the monk lifted his head and was amazed at how this apparent leader had commanded the space with just one lift of a hand, silencing them all immediately. It appeared that she did not need words to govern their actions, for they respected her without fault. With his own uneven breaths ringing through his head, it dawned upon the Monk that this Fey Queen was more formidable than the vague whispers he had heard before now had foretold. She was strong in her presence and deliberate with her actions. Her people looked towards her with adoration, and at him with nothing but disgust.

She lowered her hand and thought for a minute. Her left hand flexed around the short sword resting at her hip. The action didn’t go unnoticed by the boy who pleaded once more for his friend’s life.

“Please! You can’t kill him! He _rescued_ me, _saved my life_ from them Red Paladins!” He spat out like it was a sin to say the words, yet with enough power for everybody around them to hear him. “He’s _one of us_!”

The woman fought with herself to keep her breath steady and prevent her internal angst from boiling over. She was not known for being an angry leader or prone to raging outbursts and she liked it this way. She remembered the stories her mother told her of the human king Uther and his destructiveness, and she vowed to never become like the wretched human king. This way, her people respected her and her decisions and chose to follow her not out of duty as a Sunborn, but because they believed she would bring them hope. Yet in this moment, she was almost willing to throw that pretence out of the proverbial window. _If this is true then h_ _e’s both a murderer and a traitor to his own kind._

The Tusk, still in shock at the boy’s admission, came to stand beside his leader once more. He turned his face to her, studying the hardening of her eyes. She was a just and honest Queen and he had been by her side for years, yet now, in this moment, he could not tell what she was going to do. The crowd remained silent and gazed at the situation with trepidation.

The Queen relaxed her shoulders back and lifted her face as if she had made her decision, then turned her face to the mighty Tusk she knew as Hanna.

“Prepare the circle”. Her voice did not waver even once with her order.

Hanna, the Tusk, bowed his head shallowly at the command, responding “Yes, your Highness”. Quiet gasps rippled backwards through the crowd as murmuring echoes of their Queen’s decision made their way to the furthest individuals of the gathered Fey. With one final glance back to the Monk, her eyes set steadily on his when she spoke with her voice strong like fire,

“We fight at sundown”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun duuuuunn.  
> I'm trying to build the angst between TWM and our young queen here before we get any further into character details, but it will come :)


	3. the people's queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fight between the Weeping Monk and the Fey Queen begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for mild/moderate description of violence, i've capped the beginning and end with ** if you'd like to skip past it.  
> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated x

The Monk was so tired he could feel it in his bones, an ache rattling deep through his body. He had been given a few hours to rest until sundown where he would inevitably meet his fate, one way or another. The boy, _Squirrel,_ as he preferred to be called, had stolen some soup from an unsuspecting Fey and brought it to him. The Monk was hesitant, but he took it all the same. He was thankful to have at least one person on his side, though doubtless he didn’t deserve it.

“What’s going to happen?” Squirrel asked as he crouched beside him, tearing away at a palm sized chunk of bread.

“I’m not sure” the Monk responded. He eyed the soup and began to drink it from the bowl. His stomach growled at him like it thought his mouth was no longer connected to his body.

“She said you are going to fight,” to which the Monk simply nodded, “I’ve never seen this happen.”

“You’ve seen people _fight_ , Percival” the Monk retorted.

“Yeah, but not like this! It’s exciting,” the boy smiled in awe as he watched the fires being built and the circle being marked out. Fey were walking around with bowls of dark paint, decorating each others faces and exposed skin like they were going to some kind of ritual.

The monk turned and looked at the boy with his eyes sharp like daggers. Squirrel saw his friend’s displeasure at his excitement, “Well maybe its not for _you_ , but that’s your problem,” he joked sarcastically. _Does the Weeping Monk even understand jokes_?

Lancelot stared at him blankly. “I recall you begging for my life not too long ago.”

“Eeeehhh well _I_ don’t want you to die,” the boy began, “but _she_ does.” Squirrel pointed towards the Fey Queen, _Ari_ , he recalled her name was. She was standing beside one of the now dimly lit fire pits which marked the corners of the clearing, watching the flames grow taller and taller. She had the sudden feeling of being exposed, _of being watched_ , and as if on instinct turned her head to face the pair. She noticed the Monk’s eyes watching her from under his hood. It took all of her strength to tare her face away and refrain from hurtling her sword towards him there and then, for it was not time for her to pass judgement just yet.

Hanna, her trusted advisor, was close by throwing firewood into another pit as she approached, “They may have been followed here. Double the guard for tonight. Make sure they are prepared.” In his silence, the Monk observed the exchange.

“Yes, your highness” Hanna gave a subtle bow of his head.

“A precaution only, nothing more” she assured him, to which he nodded again.

“Thank you my friend” she pat him on the shoulder as she made her way out of the clearing.

~•~

The circle was set. In accordance with Fey customs, disagreements could be settled with fights if all else had failed. But there was no time for talking with the Monk. Her people wanted blood, and they were going to get it.

The circle was made up of Fey and their shields which served as the boundary for an arena. Onlookers gathered around anxiously, their nervous energies filling the air with a thick sense of tension. Four raging fire pits now marked the corners of the clearing and a set of covered metal lamps hung down from the canopy above.

As the sun disappeared from view, the Monk was pulled up from where he was bound to a post and pushed into the circle. He had recovered some strength in his brief period of rest, but likely not enough to last as long as usual in this coming confrontation. He stood eyeing the situation. There was no exit from the circle without having to break through rows of fey and a ring of wooden shields. It was then that he finally accepted what would happen to him next. 

The Fey began to stomp and chant just as they did on the Monk’s arrival to the camp. A few had makeshift drums and were banging them as if they were composing a war song. Ari, the Fey Queen, stepped forward from behind the lines of Fey and into the circle. She was dressed in a way which almost resembled the Monk’s own worn out attire. She wore no metal or chain for armour. Her bodice from before was replaced with a much thicker black version, covering a dense woven grey tunic. Her wrists and arms were leather bound and her boots served to protect her ankles and lower legs from any blows. Her shining silvered hair was pulled back into a braid and secured away with a tie. There were no false airs and graces about her. No jewellery or gold to show off her status. _The people’s Queen,_ the Monk understood now _._

The blood on her face from earlier had been cleaned off and replaced by the black of paint, two lines running down from her forehead and over her eyes to the apples of her cheeks. Another ran from the bow of her lip all the way down to where her neck formed from her chest. _She’s confident_ , the monk thought, _to wear so little armour in a fight_.

She brought forth two scabbarded swords, the longer of which she tossed towards the Monk at the opposite side of the clearing. He leant forward cautiously to pick it up, his hands still bound at the wrists. His fingers brushed over the golden cross embedded at the pommel. _The avenging sword of light_.

The Queen nodded at the Fey who had shoved the man into the arena. He proceeded to move forward and drew a knife from beneath the belt around his tunic to cut away at the monk’s ties, letting his hands go free. The Fey stepped away quickly, as if he had expected the Monk to turn on him now that he was armed, yet he didn’t.

The Queen unsheathed her sword and discarded the scabbard to the side, inspiring the crowd to roar louder. _They really do adore her_ , Lancelot noted. Her sword was a plain steel weapon with nothing seemingly special or decorative about it. She lifted the blade up and ran her hand over the flat of it, a faint glow of golden light trailed behind her palm in its path. _Sunborn_ , he remembered. She looked up through her eyelashes at him, a small grin threatening to pull at the corners of her lips. The Sunborns were known to be good fighters. Maybe even _great_ fighters. _But they weren’t the only ones_.

Lancelot repeated her motions, drawing his sword up and discarding the scabbard away. They began to spiral in towards each other. The Monk watched her move, studying her motions, the placement of her feet, the inclination of her sword hand and the tilt of her body. She too did the same, eyeing the infamous sword which had cut through so many of her kind. The crowd watched with intent, eager to see who would make the first move.

**When he was close enough, Lancelot lunged forward with his left leg and began the attack, bringing his sword down from over his head to meet hers as she mirrored him to block his blow. Ari dropped her right knee and brought her weapon back up to strike his away with sheer force. She drove upwards to knee her left leg into his abdomen. He shoved her with his free arm over to his right side and spun away to narrowly avoid the backwards slash of her sword. He didn’t want to fight her, to fight a Fey. When he ran with the boy he willed himself to try and do better, to _try_ to shed the skin of the Weeping Monk. He didn’t see how this was going to help his cause, but he had no choice. The Monk came down at her just like before and she blocked him once again. She kicked for his legs and landed her foot, driving him to take a knee. In one swift motion their swords danced together when he rounded his over hers to drag the blades over to his left. The Fey propelled herself to spin on her heel and use the power of her rotation to land a backwards blow to his held up sword.

At the clash of their steel, Lancelot swore he saw fire dancing wildly in her golden eyes. The boy, Percival, yelled for his friend to get up, for he was still knelt on the muddy ground. A sudden rush of adrenaline allowed the Monk to push himself to his feet and shove her away. _I don’t want to fight you._ He contemplated holding himself back but discerned that his weakness was already doing this for him.

They were back where they started, standing a few lengths away from each other, swords in hands and revelling in the thrill of the fight. But this was not over yet and one of them had to win, yet neither were keen or willing to lose. Ari could tell that the Monk was hurting from the way he moved her away. _Just one more push_ , she prayed. They came together as Ari took the downward attack once and then twice. Lancelot swung backhandedly and she stepped away and bent her spine to avoid the tip of his sword, her own laying flat across her chest. Her momentum brought her to just miss his chin with an upwards swing. In what he thought was a last attempt to overpower her, Lancelot thrust his sword down. Ari’s eye’s widened as she saw the blow coming more powerfully than any of his others had done. She jumped to dodge his blade and came to wedge at his right side. She brought the elbow of her sword arm up to his face, splitting the corner of his lip in the process. The Monk winced at the sensation and brought his blade back and over her head as she ducked down out of the way. They both stumbled back a few paces.

Resentment washed over Lancelot’s face as he brought his hand to press at his broken lip, a smear of blood stained onto his fingers as he brought them away. It was in that moment when Ari knew that she had him, and he was done playing games. His irritation now only fuelled the loss of his composure. He lunged for her with an upper and then downward swing, meeting her blade with each blow. They moved fast together, like their feet had done this dance a thousand times. Lancelot stepped to her right side and landed an elbow of his own to her cheek. She made her parry with a backswing which went wide over his head as he crouched, raising his sword in defence which met no metal. Ari spun away and stepped back, evaluating her next move. She didn’t have much time to think before the Monk came forward once more and swung for her head. In a flush of panic she lunged forward into his space and grabbed onto his sword arm with her left hand. She caught him just in time to keep his blade from cutting into her back. At the same time she altered her grip and brought the hilt of her sword to jab at his face, landing its point on his forehead, and then down onto the wrist of the hand which gripped his sword. His free hand came to her ribs to push her away but she only anchored into him further. Another thrust of her hilt into his hand and he released his sword. She once again brought her left knee up into his body and he buckled into hers. She hooked her foot behind his ankle and with one pull and the push of her hands, he fell backwards into the dirt. Ari quickly kicked his sword away from where it fell.

** Lancelot landed with a thud that forced the air from his body and a groan from his broken lips. When he opened his eyes, the victor was covering him, her knee pressed into the space between his ribs as she steadied herself with her other leg stretched out to the side. The noise of the cheering crowd distracted him from recognising the sensation of a blade pressed flat against his throat which was cocked flush against her forearm.

“Kill him!” The people shouted asynchronously but her dagger lay still, pressing up into his airway. Her sword was pulled back into the air as she held him to the ground. Ari looked into his eyes, _those weeping eyes_ , wide and flowing with a blue hue that she had forgotten could exist. At this short distance, she saw just how young he was. _He can only be one or two summers older than me,_ she thought. Ari hadn’t cared for that detail before. And she saw something there. Something _familiar_.

She could feel every breath of air passing over her, hear every crackle from the fires and for a moment, it was as if the world stood still, and it was just them. She wasn’t one to often connect with The Hidden, but she felt them then stronger than ever before. They spoke to her, but she could not gather what they were saying against the white noise of her people’s chants. He stared up at her. His cerulean eyes pleading for her to end him as he panted for breath.

 _Live_.

She heard The Hidden say clearly.

 _Live_. They spoke again, and Ari felt them move through her like a gentle breeze on an autumn day. She swore in that moment that she saw the weeping marks embedded in his skin glow with a crimson tint for nothing but a mere second. _He must live_. They begged. She involuntarily let out all of the air from her lungs and gasped as it flooded back into her chest, pulling her back to the chants of the people, _her people_. The sword in her right hand dropped and planted itself into the mud by his arm and the crowd gasped. _What am I doing?_ Ari took her dagger away from the crease of his throat, removed her knee from his torso and pushed herself up onto her feet. She expected him to do the same but he did not move. The Monk lay on the sodden ground with a look of utter confusion. His brows knitting together while his eyes narrowed towards her. His lip bled, and the gash on his forehead did the same.

The Fey roared in horror for they could not understand why the Monk was still alive, and just as she had done before, she looked up to them and raised a leather bound hand. Silence swept over the gathering. _Whatever you’re going to say, make it worth it._ The young woman took the deepest breath that she could gather.

“It was written, when our forefathers were born that _no Fey_ , would bring harm to another no matter their wrongdoing or crime. If _we_ kill him...then that makes us _no better_ than those Paladins.” The crowd didn’t seem to consider her words, muttering amongst themselves and Ari could tell that they were not convinced. The Monk lay still on the ground, gazing up at her stood proud beside his feet.

“I have seen them,” she continued, “I see how they move, how they work. This being,” she pointed with her dagger towards him as he held a bated breath, “is nothing more to them than their instrument, their _weapon_. And if he is _here,_ and has truly forsaken the red like the child says that he has,” Lancelot took a glance over to where Percival was being held back gently from the pair’s feud, “then as your Queen I offer mercy.”

The Fey gasped once again and people’s eyes darted towards each other as their mutterings grew louder. Ari prepared herself for the outrage that she expected to follow her ruling, flexing her hand around her dagger’s hilt. She glanced around at her people as their indignation became prominent. They had never disagreed with her like this, making her confidence in her choice begin to dwindle. She stopped her survey of her people when she met the gaze of her trusted advisor Hanna. She stared at him, begging for a sign or _something_. With his arms folded against his chest he tilted his face up and nodded, willing her to go on. Her thoughts went to the one man that all Fey people knew and beloved.

“You will remember the Green Night, Gawain,” she picked her head up higher and spoke assertively above them, “he said that all Fey are brothers and you believed him, as do I.”

Lancelot felt a break in his chest. He wondered if she knew that the Green Night was dead. Or if he wasn’t and the Brothers had kept him alive over the last few days, then he would most definitely be soon be dead. _Its my fault. I could have stopped it._

“The Hidden have spoken," she declared, and in one last breath, "the Monk will live.” The crowd looked nervously between each other. Ari spoke with the conviction that she had always done, but doubted wether it was enough, for she too as well as them wanted the monk dead. _The Hidden have spoken. Who am I to go against their will?_ So she resigned to show him the mercy he had never given to her kind, and uphold their Fey tradition.

She turned to face the Monk, still defeated in the mud. Addressing the crowd first, “There is a time when we must all come to reckon with our pasts,” then she lowered her face down to address him, “your time is now.”

Lancelot suddenly felt a stronger pain resonate through his chest that wasn’t there before. A pain like an ache from something which wasn’t physical. He couldn’t place his finger on it. Or rather, he _wouldn’t_.

She lowered her voice for his ears only, “The boy says that you saved him, and you clearly almost paid for it with your life,” she said, noting his days old cuts and bruises, “and since I was raised to be just, I am giving you this one chance.” As much as he tried, he could not take his eyes away.

“This is not _forgiveness_ , Monk” she clarified. “This is _mercy_. Death would have been the easy option for you,” she paused, “and for me. Do not forget what I have done for you today” she warned. The Monk gave a curt nod to her and lowered his head into the safety of his hood in shame. As she turned to walk away, the man’s travelling companion broke from the two Fey holding him back and ran to the Monk, falling to his knees by his side and patting the end of his sleeve to the bleeding on his forehead. The Monk didn’t seem to mind the boy’s actions, and Ari watched as the child gently tried to sit him up. The gesture made something stir within her at this unlikely pairing, and the kindness that the boy shows to him. She wasn’t sure what had changed, but she tried to push the feeling deep down within her as she turned her head to her trusted friend, Hanna, motioning for him to approach.

“Make sure that they have food and water and some place dry to sleep for tonight.” She requested.

“Yes, your highness.”

“Oh, and Hanna” Ari cocked her head, “keep an eye on the boy.”

“Your highness?” Hanna lowered his eyebrows, his face contorting in confusion. _The boy?_

“Where do you think your soup disappeared to earlier?” She smiled quizzically at the Tusk, who turned and dropped his jaw wide at the boy amusedly. _I’m going to like this kid_ , he thought.

The monk glanced at the exchange before him. He was very puzzled. _How could she go from almost separating my head from my body to offering me food and shelter and smiling as though nothing has happened?_ Oh yes, he was very puzzled indeed. Ari was almost at the edge of the circle which had begun to disperse when he found his voice, “Lancelot," causing her to stop dead in her tracks. All eyes in the camp seemed to be watching him now, and he begged for the earth to swallow him whole. She turned painfully slowly to face him and the boy who gazed up at her in wonder.

“ _My name... is Lancelot_ ”.

She did nothing more but blink in acknowledgement at him before she left.

 _Lancelot_. _So the Weeping Monk has a name_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so lancelot lives because she would not kill him...interesting...  
> you've had a hint at one of the sunborn fey powers as well as one of lancelot's, i have many ideas for what else they can both do which i am excited to delve into soon. I should have the next chapter ready in a few days, with a few more less aggressive interactions between these two :)


	4. a little kindness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Squirrel gets himself into some trouble and Ari grows a little closer to the Monk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for mild descriptions of injuries and religious based conflict. I recommend to make sure that you’ve read the prologue (ch.1) before this.  
> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated x

Before the dawn of mankind, a drop of sunlight fell to the earth, and from its energy there grew a tree. The tree was strong and sturdy with leaves of shining gold, rooted atop a rolling hill. The wind swirled between its branches and rustled its glorious foliage. The tree spoke to the wind, and gave it life with each touch as the air brushed its leaves. This life one day became known to many as The Hidden.

The Hidden danced through the forests and the rolling hills, into the valleys and across the green meadow fields. Within their joy, The Hidden grew fearful of the rains and fires which damaged their lands. Tried as they might, they could not stop the floods and murderous embers that swallowed the land. In one last attempt to save their home, The Hidden went to the tree atop the hill and asked what they should do. The tree said nothing, and remained silent for each day after that they came to it.

The Hidden went to the tree for many months and began to lose hope when one day, they saw another drop of sunlight come down from the sky. The Hidden watched and waited, but nothing came of the light. It sat above the ground and twirled on its axis. The tree after many months finally spoke to them, “For your home, I give you the energy that flows through me. Use it to save your lands.”

The Hidden were in shock and confused as they gathered around the tree, each one reaching out to its roots and branches. And as it said would happen, the energy from the tree flowed into The Hidden. They turned to the drop of sunlight, wondering what to do. They could not ask the tree for the tree was no more, the earth now flat where its roots had once been. The Hidden knew that they could not protect the lands by themselves, and so they needed something, _someone_ to be their hands. They joined together, swirling into one raging whirl of wind that circled the light. They covered the sun drop and pressed down, down, down until it burst and they were blown away to the furthest corners of the land. When they returned, they were not alone. From the sundrop came three people. The Hidden spoke to the people and told them what to do. Under their instruction, the three controlled the rain and the fires and the very ground that they walked on. One governed the earth, another the flames, and the last, water. The Hidden named them the Sunborn, and in return for saving the land, The Hidden granted the sun’s creations their freedom. The first Sunborns controlled only one realm each, yet their descendants were gifted powers over any of the three realms, _earth, fire and water_.

The Sunborns were alone on earth for many years until one day, humans appeared. They got on well with each other and lived in harmony. Centuries later a new clan of Fey evolved from a Sunborn daughter. She named them the Ash folk, for they lived amongst the ash trees of the woodlands, and blessed them with new gifts as well as some of her own powers of the realms. New clans evolved every few hundred years until there were seven; the Sunborn, the Ash, the Sky folk, Tusks, Snake clansmen, Moon Wings, and the Fauns. The Sunborns and Ash were fewer in number, and were quickly outnumbered by the younger Fey clans. The Hidden were quiet yet remained present throughout the land, whispering into the ears of those who they willed to hear them. The Fey changed and evolved and the humans remained the same. The humans grew jealous of the Fey’s powers, and very quickly their peaceful harmony became disarray. The Fey retreated to forests and trees whilst the humans governed the cities and fields. Years later, an accord was formed to end their battles and join the Fey and humans together for peace. This lasted for around two hundred years before the new, young, and foolish human King Uther allowed the Red Paladins to rise up against the Fey. 

~•~

Ari looked down from where she sat by the fire pit at the edge of the clearing under the cold evening sky. Her cheek was sore and bruised where the Monk had caught her during their fight just an hour or so ago. Her markings ached under where her wrists were wrapped in leather. She rubbed her palm over her bounds, willing the heat to soothe the ache. This aching didn’t happen often, and she supposed it was a sign of The Hidden calling to her again like they did just before. She sighed heavily, and out of the corner of her heavy eye noticed the limp of a tall shadowy figure moving away from the clearing, followed hastily at his heels by the little blonde boy.

They had given the Monk a small tent to pitch and a rough woollen blanket to sleep on. Not knowing where to go, he made camp as best as he could with the help of the boy next to a tree where they kept some of their horses, including his mount, Goliath. He left his tent open at the front so that all could see him and feel safe knowing where he was. Though this was perhaps a mistake, as he calculated that it was almost winter, and the nights were drawing colder.

He was watched by the Fey, as he gathered he would be, but when the Queen came to them that night, all other eyes faded away.

Ari approached with some reluctance yet confidence simultaneously. The boy noticed her immediately and shot up from the log stump where he was perched at the entrance of the tent. His quick motion seemed to not startle the Monk, who turned his head slowly to view the commotion. She observed as the boy attempted to bow towards her a little too flamboyantly. She smiled at him as she drew closer and his naive action seemed to relax her.

“Born in the dawn,” she greeted.

“To pass in the twilight” the boy responded proudly.

“We don’t do that here little one” she admitted as she came to stop before them, gesturing her hand to his bent over body while lifting a plate of food with her other out towards the boy. His stood straighter and his eyes widened as he saw her offering of bread, an apple and some meat. It was a plain meal at best, but they didn’t have anything fancier to offer this evening.

Lancelot saw the plate of food too, wondering if he was going to eat any of that before the boy had wolfed it all down. He watched as Squirrel’s hands reached out and took the food before he slumped back down to sit on the log. “Percival,” he said lowly, lifting his chin quickly to the woman and back down to the boy with the raise of an eyebrow.

Ari examined the swift exchange.

“Oh, thank you,” the boy picked up his voice and turned to her. Lancelot cleared his throat subtly.

“Your highness.” The boy concluded, to which Ari let out a soft breath which almost resembled a chuckle.

“The formality is not necessary, but, you’re welcome”. She nodded to the boy and watched as he began to peck at the food.

Her attention turned to the Monk, an eyebrow raised expectantly. Lancelot took a breath and pushed himself onto his feet and appeared out from under the tent. He stood a respectable distance away from her. She had _just_ tried to kill him after all.

Ari raised her other arm and presented a shallow wooden bucket to him, a gesture of which he appeared to be confused by. She glanced swiftly down to the bucket in her hand with a gentle nod of her head and back up to his eyes. He did the same and noticed the bucket’s contents in the dim light: a few clean bandages and cloths with a couple of flowering plants. _Medicinal plants_ , he reckoned. He lowered his eyes and nodded his thanks, “your highness” he said so quietly that Ari thought she missed it as he took the bucket from her. He stared at the ground, ashamed. He did not deserve such kindness from the Queen personally.

“You will stay here until you are healed, then we will decide what to do with you” she said as her final remark before turning away.

Squirrel offered the apple out to Lancelot who took it in his calloused hands, breaking it in two and tossing one half towards his horse, Goliath, who was tied near the tent and all too eager to take a generous bite. He let the boy have his fill before the young one turned with a sympathetic look on his face, ushering the rest of the plate to the wounded Monk, who reached and took it gladly. Lancelot ate whilst the pair sat in a comfortable silence.

The moon rose higher above the canopy of trees and the boy soon fell fast asleep on his log. In all his pain, Lancelot scooped him gently and placed him on the woollen blanket inside the tent, pulling the excess over his small body before taking the boy’s seat at the edge of the tent. He would not rest tonight. However, some time before dawn, the Monk could resist no longer and shut his eyes to rest. His willpower finally giving in to the call of sleep.

~•~

He spent all of the next day being watched by the Fey. The boy tended to him as best as he could and when night came, the Monk again lay the boy to rest in his tent, taking up his perch once more on the log outside. Lancelot was awoken under the midday sun by the annoyed grunt of a Fey. _Smoke and moss on a rainy day,_ the scent hit him hard _._ His eyes flung open and his hands went to reach for the sword which no longer occupied his hip. Lancelot tilted his face immediately up to the source of the voice. Hanna was stood before him, his tall stature somewhat overbearing.

“Your boy has been stealing.”

Lancelot’s face questioned his words before he realised the boy was standing at the man’s side, one of his calloused hands clasped around Percival’s shoulder. The boy’s lips were turning blues and purples from the juices of what Lancelot assumed were berries stuffing his cheeks. A quick glance down to the boy’s hands confirmed this, still gripping onto a blackberry or two. Percival stuck his tongue out to lick his lips and smiled childishly, to which Lancelot narrowed his eyes.

“You do not need to steal here, boy,” the Tusk looked down at the child who picked his head up towards the giant of a man, “if you were hungry, you should have just asked. Ari does not let her people go without.”

Lancelot watched the Tusk as he tussled the boy’s hair, seemingly forgiving him for his indiscretion. He nudged the boy gently forward to Lancelot, returning him to his friend. The Tusk’s face changed when he looked to Lancelot, making the distaste for his presence in the camp show clearly. Hanna returned to the clearing to continue with his duties.

Percival stuffed the last two berries that he held into his mouth and then stretched his arms out wide. “I like him,” he said through the course of his chewing, flopping his hands back down to his sides, “he gave me more berries before he dragged me away. Said I should ask first.” The boy moved to sit on the floor beside his friend.

“Wise words. You should listen.” Lancelot advised. The Monk was and was not many things, but he wasn’t completely without morals, for the church did also teach not to steal. The boy huffed and flopped backwards to bask in the sun.

Lancelot soon got bored of sitting around with nothing to do. He wasn’t used to that, he was always on the move. He sent the boy away to find him something to eat when his stomach growled in defiance. The boy speedily returned with some bread and meat for him alongside a small flask of water. A group of children around Percival’s age ran through the clearing whilst he ate and drank, chasing each other playfully with sticks. The young one beside him tugged on Lancelot’s cloak and asked to join them. The Monk looked at him blankly for a few seconds and then gave him a nod. _He doesn’t need my permission. He isn’t my child._ Lancelot didn’t approve of how the boy had seemingly grown attached to him, he had always been alone. He felt a pain in his heart each time Percival looked at him, knowing full well that he had burned the boy’s village to the ground. Lancelot didn’t understand. He _needed_ to understand. His hands twitched as he sat on the log idly. _I have to do something_. He reached for the bucket and lifted himself up, stalking away from the camp beneath the confines of his hood.

~•~

Ari didn’t sit on a throne whilst everyone did the work around her. She was always moving, fetching clean water or washing out pans, gathering firewood or drying out clothes. She was a skilled hunter, bringing in an unfortunate being with her after almost every time that she rode out. As she milled around the camp now under the afternoon sky, her mind wandered to the Monk. And now that she thought of him, she recalled that she had not seen him by his tent since after midday. She turned her head to his tent and he still was not there. She strode over at once to where the Monk and the boy rested, looking around once more for any signs of the pair. His horse was still tied with the others. _He could not have gone far._

She unwrapped the leather from her palm, and with a quick glance to see who was watching her, she turned her back and reached out her unbound hand. She calmed her mind and steadied her breaths before touching the ground where he had sat.

Her palm tingled as she felt the rush of the earth flood into her. It was exhilarating beyond words. There was no other feeling like it, the connection to all of the life around you. As right as it seemed to her, it was also a burden. She _felt_ every Fey within their forest. Every footstep, every rush of energy from laughter or tear falling to the earth. Noise. _So much noise_. She pushed them all aside and tried to find _him_. She sought out his footsteps, the pattern of drumming on the ground that she had seen him make in the circle two nights ago. She tried and tried but she could not feel him. _Focus Arianne_. She searched again but once more failed, so she changed her tactic.

Remembering his prior injuries, Ari hunted through her senses for his pain. The pain that _she_ had also caused him. It took her a few seconds before she caught the sensation she was seeking, coming from the West where the narrow river flowed. She followed one of the trails out in that direction, greeting a group of young children as an older Fey was instructing them on the various leaves, trees and plants around them. She walked hastily but came to a stand still when the trail split in three. She sighed. _Of course he would make this more difficult for me_. She unbound her hand once more and reached to the tree beside her. It did not take long to find him. His energy felt stronger. _He’s close_. It was painful and calm, yet dangerous, _enticing_. When her mother had told her to stay away from danger, she had listened, but now she was drawn to it. She followed the path to her right, winding between bushes and trees and when she saw him, she stopped.

Her heart sank as he knelt by the water, staring at it like he was waiting for it to flood over him. His torso was bare, his cloak and tunic thrown over a rock by the tree line. She could not yet see his face.

Lancelot had kept to himself for all of yesterday and this morning. When the boy was out running with some Fey children, he had slipped away to peel himself out of his cloak and tunic and stepped into the river. He winced as he bent to scoop the bucket into the water. When his bucket was full enough he came back to kneel by the river edge. He took a clean cloth in his hand and dabbed it down into the water. Though there was no obvious cause, he swear he felt the water ripple around his hand as he held the cloth down. He tended to his wounds, wiping away at the dirt and dried blood around his stomach and chest. It hurt as he moved but he was lying if he said he didn’t want it to. _You were demon born_. The Father’s words echoed in his mind.

 _Wood violet. Leather. Earth_.

Ari inhaled as the Monk’s head jerked sharply as if he had all of a sudden recognised that he was not alone. She wondered how this could be, for she had not made a sound. Perhaps he _was_ really Fey, perhaps he could sense her like she had sensed him. She hadn’t intended to approach him when she had set out. She just wanted to find him as he did not yet have her trust, a murderer within her own camp walls. She did not want him wandering around her people alone. She moved closer steadily. The exact marks and wounds on his back which had made her heart sink became clearer and clearer, and her heart sank a little further. His back was littered with long cuts, some old and scarred and some which were most definitely recent, likely made within the last week. She pitied him like a wounded animal that she was about to hunt for her supper. Neither of them spoke, but the silence between them said volumes. Their tension was building and it was electric, filled with danger and uncertainty. She refused to turn her back to him as she crouched to the water and rinsed the dirt and ashes off of her finger tips. Her palm had been rewrapped on her journey in its leather binds to match the other covered hand.

She stooped to her knees before him, keeping the bucket as a buffer between them. _He could kill me. He could push me back into the river and hold me down to die_. She wondered what on earth she was doing this for. She noticed the soft curls of his dark chestnut hair which had escaped from the tie and fell to the sides of his temples. He looked almost innocent in the warm daylight without the cover of his hooded cape. He looked just like a human. _Sky folk_ , she assumed. Ari forced herself to ignore his features. His face on any other Fey would likely have once stopped her with fervour in her tracks. _A monster should not be this handsome_. She pushed her mind away from its line of thought.

Ari looked to his forehead. His young companion had patted some of the blood from the man’s face but the wounds were not clean. She took the second cloth which was hanging over the bucket and placed it into the water, squeezing out the excess before hesitantly bringing it to his face. She dared not look into his eyes, but she felt them burning into her skin. _A warning_ , she gathered. His head retracted and his shoulders tensed. Nobody had ever cleansed him like this before. Perhaps his mother had once, but he had long forgotten of her. Her eyebrows furrowed as she threw him a rigid glance. The Monk relaxed into her hand as much as he would allow, averting his eyes to the river as she dabbed the cloth once, twice, three times to his forehead before lowering it back into the water. He felt exposed. _He was exposed_.

“Who is the boy to you?” Her question was low and unexpected, startling his eyes to look at hers automatically. He did not predict a conversation and quickly tried to shut it down.

“Nobody” he lied.

“And yet, you saved him from your brothers. _Why_?” She brought the damp rag back up and continued on his forehead.

“He’s just a boy.” He responded, blank faced as he watched her.

“That’s not an answer.” She challenged.

The Monk silenced to the point where she thought he would not speak again.

He averted his eyes to the river once more, “They were going to kill him.”

“That hasn’t stopped you before.” She pushed, fuelling the back and forth between them.

“I don’t harm the children.” Or so he blindly believed.

Ari paused. She couldn’t understand if he actually believed that blatant lie. The thought made her blood boil. She pursed her lips and grit her teeth, removing her hand from his face. The Monk saw how her jaw twitched as she studied the cloth staining with blood at her knees. _His blood_. She was angry. _How is this murderous crusader the more composed of the two of us right now_? Her hand flexed around the cloth in her lap as she contemplated her dagger hidden in her boot.

“Since I was a girl, these forests have taken in children forced from their homes by fires set by _your_ red brothers. Even more so since _you’ve_ fought for them. You burn their homes and watch them run for their lives as you murder their families.”

The Monk’s lips parted. _He’s heard this speech before_.

“And this is punishment for _what_ crime exactly? For just being born a Fey?”

His rough hushed voice repeated the Father’s teaching to her, “We are cleansing souls-”

“You are murdering them!” She exclaimed sternly as her body levered itself forcefully up onto her feet. The bucket toppled and the water sank down into the dirt. Her chest rose and fell quickly. Her mercy kept him breathing but it would not stop her from pushing at his crimes. The Hidden told her to let him live, and she was going to do it on her terms.

“You have nothing to say, _Monk_?” She spat out the words like they were poison. The Monk lifted his eyes just enough to see her face. The Queen’s eyes darkened and narrowed and the Monk’s mind swore it saw flames spread across her golden irises. Ari wasn’t lying when she said that he would have to face his past.

The Monk focussed on the prominent purple bruise which he had given her and then lowered his head and retreated into himself. Ari ground her teeth once more. _Fine, have it your way._ She walked away and left him once again on the ground and defeated by her words. As she stalked back to the camp, Ari realised that her exchanges with the Monk were always going to be this way, cold and empty. She wouldn't trust him and he was never going to trust her. She thought that the road to understanding him would be easy. Someone like him only knows how to take orders and carry them out and that is his decision. 

She did not know when he returned to his tent, nor did she care. But the boy was there with him and she would endeavour to make sure that _he_ was safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this chapter is quite long but I didn't want to break it up.  
> As you can tell, I've taken some liberties with the story of how the hidden and the fey kinds evolved. This is also the introduction to Ari’s powers which I’m having a lot of fun with.  
> I’m doing my best to leave little hints towards things that you’ll see/find out about in later chapters.  
> I thought that we should have at least one moment of the pair being a little soft in the story so far. Also, Ari k.n.o.w.s he's pretty and is kind of a little sorry for beating him up. Lancelot and Squirrel are the reluctant father/son duo you didn't know you needed. Also, what's with all the leather I wonder... :)


	5. the boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lancelot is reminded of who he used to be and Ari comes face to face with the Monk in two unexpected encounters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I messed up the timing of the burning night a little so I have gone back to the prologue and changed it so that the burning night was 25 (not 30) years ago. This doesn't affect what you've already read but it was going to affect what is to come. Anyway, it will all be explained.  
> T/W for mild violence and hints towards childhood abuse. It not really in any depth or detail but I would respectfully warn you anyway.  
> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated x

[[Moodboard](https://captainbucky-yt.tumblr.com/post/638065159963836416/youre-not-what-i-was-looking-for)]

It was a surprisingly warm and sunny morning for late autumn. Some of the Fey had come out to the clearing and sat down on blankets and tree stumps with their friends and families, Ari included. She enjoyed eating with the Fey and did it with almost every meal. They were her family.

Squirrel was tired of sitting at the tent all of time. He knew that Lancelot had no problem with him going off and running around with the Fey children, but he always went back to him. Every night he returned to the tent and slept by the Monk’s side. He found it strangely comforting and he had an inkling that Lancelot felt the same way, though he would never show it. The boy pitied the man. He had known what it was like to feel alone. The boy was an orphan. Today, he decided it was his turn to boss the Monk around for once. He’d watched him heal and grow stronger over the last few days.

Squirrel stood and reached his hands to grab onto Lancelot’s arm, “Come on you ugly lump,” he said encouragingly, “get up”.

Lancelot glowered at the boy, _annoyed_ , “What are you doing?”

“I told you, get up, we’re going to go eat with the others,” Squirrel pulled at the man’s arm again.

“No,” Lancelot responded, pulling his arm out of the boy’s grasp. Squirrel rolled his eyes and huffed.

“You can’t just sit here by yourself all of the time, you have to go and meet people.”

Lancelot didn’t want to meet people, or more appropriately, they didn’t want to meet him. He wanted to be by himself as he always had been, for them to ignore that he exists so that they wouldn’t have to be so afraid of the monster in their camp. He threw the boy a look of resignation and resentment. He envied how the boy could so easily walk into somewhere new and go around with other Fey as if he had known them his whole short life. Lancelot had never actually known another Fey, and he didn’t want to start now. He obeyed the Queen’s command for him to remain in the camp, but that didn’t mean that he would enjoy it.

“No,” he repeated, down casting his gaze to the ground. He was bewildered when the boy then slapped his arm and he turned his head sharply up to him. He had expected to almost scare the boy with his quick reaction, but he didn’t.

“Come on Lancelot” the boy moaned pleadingly. Lancelot sighed and blinked his eyes slowly.

“Fine,” he gave in through gritted teeth, “but its your fault when they decide they don’t want me there.”

The boy’s lips turned upside down and his eyebrows raised wryly, “I can live with that,” he agreed with a small smile. The Monk stood and followed the boy, the scent of fresh bread hitting his nose.

~•~

Ari noticed as the Squirrel boy strolled into the clearing, the Weeping Monk following carefully at his heels. He kept his head down within his hood, avoiding the wide-eyed looks the Fey were throwing him. She altered her position on her log to keep the man in full view. The boy trotted excitedly over towards the open clay oven, examining the still warm bread. He muttered something to the baker and she handed him half a small loaf. He took a couple of apples from a nearby basket and glanced around, looking for a place for him and his friend to sit. He found a spot and sat down, tossing one of the green apples to the Monk. He caught it and went to sit beside the boy. Ari watched the pair with a tight-lipped expression, and wondered who exactly was the man and who was the child in their relationship, for it always seemed to be the boy looking after the Monk. When she was contempt that the man wouldn’t cause any trouble, seeing how he kept to himself, she turned her face back to her breakfast and companions. Keeping a watch on them every now and then out of the corner of her eye.

Some time later a young girl cried out as she ran and tripped over her feet and fell to the ground, landing on her side with her hands in the mud. Multiple Fey shot up to their feet at the noise, including Ari. But none were as close to the girl as the Monk who swiftly came down to crouch an arm’s length away from the little girl's side. Ari felt the Monk’s audience synchronously gasp in and collectively hold their breaths. Even in his lowered position, the dark figure still towered over the tiny young girl. Ari’s breathing deepened and quickened as she watched his wide palm reach out. The Fey who watched were in shock more than anything, and none of them dared move. The girl sobbed but didn’t back away from the outstretched hand. Ari felt the waters of her eyes thicken but she didn’t know why. The people tensed when the girl put her muddy hand in his. He brought her up to her feet gently as he whispered reassuringly, “you’re alright”. Ari could see that the girl wanted to thank him, but instead ran away to the safety of her mother.

Lancelot wiped the mud from his palm onto the thick fabric of his black tunic. When he turned, his eyes met hers. _I don’t harm the children_. Some kind of understanding passed between the pair, and when it was over the Monk returned to his log. 

~•~

To think that the Monk was hating being here was an understatement. The boy was safe now, he had no need to stay. He promised Percival that he’d get him safe and that’s what he’s done. His horse was right beside him, he could just leave and nobody would object. The Fey didn’t exactly want him here either. But the queen, she insisted that he’d stay, for now at least until he was well again. And he was, he was healing well. It was a heart quickening feeling, the one of being trapped within your enemies’ bounds. He’d been in this situation before, almost a life time ago. He remembers the ties around his wrists, the fear, the smoke, the blood. He shook his head quickly, casting the memories away. _You were demon born_.

~•~

Ari rode out along one of her usual hunting routes around midday. She didn’t like having to hunt but knew that it was necessary for their survival. Her people needed to eat. Ari’s father taught her how to use a bow soon after she could walk. An unusual thing according to her mother but he had insisted it was better for her to learn early. When he learned of her abilities to find living things through the earth, he was even more eager for her to advance. Though she was skilled now as an adult, Ari much preferred the sword. She could move and dance with a blade in a way that she couldn’t with the bow.

She had left her horse tied by the reins to a tree and had been walking on her route for perhaps an hour. She had not caught anything yet until she heard a faint rustling up ahead. She moved her leather from her palm and placed her hand to the ground, bringing her bow to rest over her knee as she crouched. She felt the earth rush into her senses and focussed on the area ahead. She felt the footsteps touch down gracefully into the dirt. Her people would eat well tonight for today she had found a deer, and where there was one there were bound to be more. Ari waited for the deer to come closer before she removed her palm from the earth. She took out an arrow from her quiver on her right hip, placing it over her knuckle wrapped around the grip and nocking the end onto the string. She took a breath and gently rose to her feet. She waited for the deer to come even closer before drawing the string back. When the time was right, she released the arrow and landed the arrow cleanly.

Ari discarded her quiver to the ground and was almost done retrieving her arrow when she heard the breaking of a twig behind her. She spun and unsheathed her sword, her breath catching as the blade came to rest at a throat. _The Monk_. They stared at each other for a few heartbeats. _Was he following her?_

“You cannot kill me,” he said almost mockingly. _Curse those damn rules_ , she thought.

“I should,” she spat out, her tone filled with hatred and annoyance.

He grabbed her outstretched wrist and pushed it down, turning her as he grabbed her other arm and twisted it behind her. He squeezed a point on her right wrist and she dropped her sword. He held her against the warmth of his chest. It felt wrong, a reminder that his is a living person and not some icy criminal.

“You cannot kill Fey” he taunted her, bringing his mouth down to her ear. She felt his breath tingle on her skin and it made her blood boil. She also felt a heat rise up her neck which put her on edge. She had tried to show a little compassion to him the other day and he had just thrown it back in her face.

“I don’t even know if you _are_ Fey” she struggled against his grip. Then he released her, pushing her forward towards her catch. Her sword lay on the ground between them. She stared at him, his eyes dark and his face emotionless. He didn’t know why he did it, but he stepped to the side and reached his hand to a bush. Ari’s eyes widened as she saw the green of the leaves begin up his hand. _He is Fey_. The Monk too watched his hand take on the form of the leaves. She couldn’t believe it. _He’s a Traitor_. She dove for her sword and the Monk’s head turned quickly, but he was not quick enough to stop her. She lunged forward with a grunt and swung, “How could you?” She yelled at him. He dodged backwards but she came for him again. She was messy, not like she was when they fought. The Monk deduced that if she carried on this way, then it was more likely that the both of them would end up hurt. He had to stop this. This was not anger, this was rage. He kept on dodging backwards until he had a clear chance. She sloppily attempted a backwards swing which went wide. He jumped forward into her and again grabbed her wrist and spun her, this time into the floor. She landed with a thud to her back and mistakenly let got of her sword. The Monk caught it and brought it to her chest as he held her down by her throat, and for the first time, he could see she was scared of him. They were painfully close together as he held her down, pressing with just enough force to keep her still. She bared her teeth as they ground tightly together. Her nostrils flaring as she struggled to catch her breath. She had never lost her temper like this. It was bad when she thought he was just a soulless murderer. But this was worse, he was a traitor. Ari had nowhere to look but into the Monk’s eyes. _Those weeping eyes_. In her fit of passion her own had begun to well up. He could see now the tears forming.

“How could you?” She breathed out again. 

“I had no choice” he ground out. He didn’t like being judged like this.

“Liar” she cried out into his dangerously close face. Lancelot’s breath caught in the back of his throat. He pushed her deeper into the ground.

“ _I had no choice_ ” he repeated lowly and unwavering. He willed for her to infer what he would not say. _They’ve turned your mind so far inside out, that you don’t know the difference between kindness, and hate_. The Green Knight’s words rang through his head, and for the first time, he let himself falter. She saw how his eyes changed into something else. _Softened_ , almost. He looked mournful somehow. He was a contradiction, like he was somehow both fire _and_ water.

Ari spoke slowly as she realised, “They took you, didn’t they? _The brothers_.” His eyes cast down to her lips when she spoke and then away to the ground. She saw how his jaw clenched before he let go of her neck. She felt the edge of her blade release off of her chest. The Monk resigned and pushed himself up onto his feet. She had him now. She stayed silent, letting him decide what he was going to give away.

“I was just a boy” he spoke so weakly she almost didn’t hear him. His face looked lost as it stared towards the ground, as if he was remembering a forgotten memory. Ari’s breath shook. Her heart was breaking for the monster and she hated it. She could not imagine what he would have gone through to go from being _just a boy_ to this cloud of darkness before her. But that wouldn’t excuse what he’s done. She winced as she stood up onto her feet. He looked broken, as if he too had a heart that could break. He did not look at her. He already knew what she would be thinking. He stretched out his arm and offered her back her sword. She was hesitant, but reached out to take it, and as she sheathed it into its scabbard, the Monk walked away.

~•~

Towards late afternoon, Ari had the sudden thought that the boy, Percival must have come from _somewhere._ He for sure did not belong to them or the Monk, so he must have come from a different clan.

“What’s your name boy?” She asked as she came towards them. The Monk eyed her carefully, given their earlier encounter that day.

“Squirrel” he chirped up, to which the Monk cleared his throat.

“Percival” the boy corrected.

“Percival,” she echoed, “come with me?” Without giving the Monk a second glance, the boy jumped to his feet and followed her towards a larger tent at the edge of the clearing.

The boy saw the friendly Tusk, Hanna, as he stepped behind her into the tent.

“I didn’t steal the berries, it wasn’t me!” He panicked and Hanna simply grinned at him.

Ari chuckled softly to herself. “You are not in trouble Percival, I just want to know how you came to be here with the Monk” she came to a halt before him.

“Lancelot” the boy corrected her. She raised her eyebrow at him. _Don’t push it_. He had told her his name before all her people several days ago, but the fact that he had a name didn’t change who he was.

“He saved me.”

“From the Paladins?” She raised her eyebrow.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“The evil one with sewn up eyes was going to cut out my tongue at the camp. But I told him it wouldn’t stop _me_ from talking”

“Why were you at their camp?”

“Lancelot fought with Gawain and-”

“Gawain?” A flash of recognition at the name came upon her, and a feeling of dread.

“The Green Knight.” The boy smiled but the smile quickly went away. Something was wrong. If the monk was here then the Green Knight must be-

“Where is he?” She asked.

“Lancelot took him to the camp. The bloody Paladin with the sewn up eyes beat him up real bad.”

“Where is he now?”

The boy pursed his lips and slowly looked down to his feet, “He was my friend.” Ari’s face softened and her lips parted slightly. She looked to Hanna who boasted a similar expression. Ari stepped towards the boy and looked down at him, placing her hand gently on his shoulder.

“I am sorry Squirrel. He was a good man.” She rubbed his shoulder comfortingly.

The boy picked his head up, tears welling in his eyes, “you knew him?”

Ari sighed and smiled sadly, “Briefly, many years ago. He hasn’t been here in a while.”

Squirrel didn’t know what to say, so he just pursed his lips and smiled sadly, swatting away at the tears in his eyes. The Tusk came a step closer.

“Where are your people?” He asked. In truth, the boy did not know. He shrugged as he looked up to them with doeful eyes.

“Where were they when you were with them last?” Hanna continued.

“Gramaire, I left them to search for missing Fey with the Green Knight.”

“When was this?” Ari asked.

The boy shrugged again. “Nemos was burned so we fled and took back Gramaire from those bloody paladins.”

“Could they still be in Gramaire?” Hanna asked the boy.

“I don’t know,” the boy resigned, “they were waiting for ships, it was only supposed to take a couple days.”

“Ships?” Ari asked. Squirrel nodded enthusiastically. He was excited about going on the boats, he had never been on one before. 

“Should we send a hawk?” A Fey woman came forward, the same one that sent a bird into the air when they were brought into the camp.

“No, they could have moved on by now, its been days,” Ari pondered. “I know a way to find them.” She turned to the others and then back to the boy, “Let’s get you home.”

~•~

Squirrel sauntered his way over to the Monk, who had stood and decided to brush down his horse with a handful of hay.

“What did they want?” He asked as the boy approached, reaching his small hand and patting Goliath on the tip of his nose.

“They told me they’re going to take me home.” The boy said simply.

“What?” Lancelot stopped his motion and rested his hand on the horse’s back, looking down to the boy.

“Ari’s taking me home.” The boy repeated with a grin on his face as he stared up at his friend. Lancelot frowned and looked between the horse’s ears towards the tent the boy had come from. He brushed the hay to the ground and moved around the boy, striding across the clearing towards the tent.

“What is your name, boy?” Lancelot had asked the child when they were riding on the road together.

“Squirrel.”

“Squirrel is an animal, what name were you given?”

“I don’t like that name.”

The monk huffed, “Its still your name.” _He has a point_ , the boy thought.

“Fine, its Percival.”

The Monk smiled at the admission briefly, “Percival,” he repeated. After a moment the boy resulted to asking him the same thing.

“Do _you_ have a real name?” The boy had asked curiously.

“Lancelot, a long time ago my name was Lancelot.” The boy turned his head to look the broken man in the eyes. Lancelot raised his eyebrows to confirm the truth before lowering his head, his ribs aching every time he spoke. This answer was good enough to satisfy the boy, who turned back around and watched the trees in the distance grow closer.

They had been swaying along on the horse for some time in silence and the boy thought that perhaps the Monk was dead.

“What did that man mean?” He perked up. 

After a few moments, Lancelot raised his weak voice, “Which man?” _Dang it he’s not dead_ , the boy thought.

“The one that asked if I reminded you of someone?” Squirrel clarified.

 _Abbot Wicklow_ , Lancelot corrected to himself. He remained silent. He tried to push away the feeling of the pain in his back before he spoke again quietly, “You _do_.”

“Who?” The boy asked curiously, raising his eyebrow and half turning to look at him.

Lancelot was hesitant, “ _Myself_.” The boy’s body spun around quickly to fully face him, his elbow catching Lancelot in his side. He winced at the heightened pain.

“I am nothing like you,” he spat out, “ _I don’t kill Fey_.”

Lancelot looked away. He was right, he is nothing like him. After a moment of thought, “I was an orphan too,” he admitted quietly.

“You weren’t orphaned by those Paladin scum.” The boy responded quickly as though his mind didn’t connect to his mouth.

Lancelot swallowed the lump in his throat and bowed his head. His silence made the boy realise his mistake as he watched the Monk’s face change, “ _Oh_ ,” he said lowly, “I’m sorry.” Squirrel suddenly resigned into himself as the Monk picked his head up. No-one had ever apologised to him before for something so menial, especially a Fey. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” The boy asked.

“No.”

“Do you even _like_ talking?”

“No.”

“Good, because _I love talking_ ,” a fact which the Monk was about to learn in depth. The boy began, and then continued to rattle on about nothing of much importance until the Monk found a place for them to rest. By the end of the day, Lancelot had prayed to his God for some silence at least five times. The boy was finally quiet as he curled up against the base of a tree, his eyes drooping sleepily.

“Where are we going to go?” The boy asked lazily.

Lancelot sighed, “I am taking you home.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw the boy relax even more than he already was, his little voice saying, “You promise?”

Lancelot sighed again and looked down at the half asleep child, and he felt something tug at his heart. _Does he remind you of someone, this Fey orphan?_

“I promise.”

~•~

Lancelot walked into the tent with more confidence than he perhaps should have, followed at his heels by the boy who had to run to just keep up with him. They all turned at the noise. The Tusk reached for his axe, Ari her sword, and a Fey woman a dagger as they leaned over a table to examine what the Monk gathered were maps. A few other unfamiliar Fey were also gathered around the table. 

“You’re not taking him.” The Monk announced.

Ari was surprised. He didn’t look like he was going to try and harm them but his gruff voice was threatening enough. _You can’t fight him with fire_. Ari gestured for the others to lower their weapons. 

“I am taking him back to his people,” she sighed.

“No, you’re not,” Lancelot retorted. He knew that they would never allow him to go with them, and he had promised the boy. Squirrel couldn't understand why the man was annoyed. Ari eyed him suspiciously, his face passively warning her. _There’s something more, something he isn’t saying_. She lifted her face a little higher, glancing briefly at the other Fey.

“Give us a moment?” She asked, her eyes remaining on the tall stature of the grey clad Monk.

“You sure?” The woman beside her spoke up, to which Ari nodded calmly. The Fey walked out from where the Monk had come in, leaving a respectable distance between them and him as they walked by.

Lancelot glanced down to the boy now stood by his side and narrowed his eyes at him. Squirrel rolled his eyes and turned away to follow the Fey. “I’m never allowed to be there when the _adults_ ” he mocked sarcastically with a wobble of his head, “are arguing.”

Lancelot turned back to her when the boy was gone and strode a few steps closer. She watched him and waited.

“I promised him I would take him home” he growled lowly. Ari’s head sat back on her neck and her face contorted into a puzzled expression. That was not what she expected him to say at all.

“I will take him” she tried to assure the Monk.

“No,” he repeated, “I have to do this.” His piercing blue eyes looked down at her from under his hood and she didn’t know what to do. _What if he just wanted her to give him a way out, a way to escape?_ Though she knows that he could have likely done it already by now. It was the boy who was keeping him here. She bit her lip and considered his words. The man was connected to the boy and the boy to the man, he was always by his side and she couldn’t figure out why. She looked up at him through her eyelashes, “Okay,” she nodded, “you may come with us.” The Monk watched her cautiously, he had expected there would be more of an argument. And when she didn’t deliver one, he was confused.

Ari doesn’t know why she agreed. Maybe it was in what he had said to her earlier, _I was just a boy_ , that made her think that was the reason for the pair’s connection. _I don’t harm the children_ , she remembered him saying. If the Monk was going to be at this camp then she would rather he stayed under her nose where she could keep an eye on him, and luckily for her, the tall figure was hard to miss.

“We leave at sunrise,” she confirmed.

The Monk nodded subtly. He stepped back and turned away, leaving her alone in the tent with her thoughts. Ari rolled her eyes, more because of herself than anything, as she turned back around to the table.

“Mother always did say to stay away from danger,” she said to herself quietly as she resumed looking over the maps.

~•~

 _Sunrise_ , and Lancelot was stood checking his horse. Squirrel was sitting on a log not too far away, pecking at the last few crumbs of his breakfast. The Monk paused as he watched the boy. He lips tugged into a soft smile that could easily be missed if someone was watching. The Monk startled when something tapped at his shoulder. _A blade_. He turned around as if ready to fight. He stopped himself when he saw it was Ari pointing the tip of his own sword towards his heart. He felt his body tense. Ari twirled the hilt in her hand until the tip pointed towards the ground, holding the sword out to him she said, “Don't make me regret this decision, you do what I say when I say it. Are we clear?”

The Monk narrowed his eyes at her and took his sword, placing it back into its home at his hip. _I’ll take that as a yes_ , she thought. She mounted onto her horse and the monk onto his. Ari insisted the boy rode with her, one more reason which would keep the Monk in check. She gave her final orders to her people and asserted who was in charge during her absence and just after dawn, they rode out to take the boy home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this chapter is so long but I really needed to get all of this out so that we could move on with the story. Lancelot helping the girl was something I thought of randomly in the middle of the night and thought it was necessary for Ari to see some of the 'human' (pardon the pun) decency that he is capable of. And I also needed Lancelot to prove that he's Fey. Kudos to you if you've recognised that the narrative changes the name of the characters depending on who is interacting, this is intentional. You asked for there to be a rematch and for Lancelot to win, well, this is all you're going to get for now :'D  
> Onwards to the adventure! ... which is already written and waiting :)


	6. the druid's flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lancelot is thrown into the fires of his past and Ari receives some conflicting advice from an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for internal conflict about childhood trauma.  
> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated x

[[Moodboard](https://captainbucky-yt.tumblr.com/post/638567394182316032/youre-not-what-i-was-looking-for-weeping)]

"Where are we going?” Squirrel asked with interest from where he sat in front of Ari in the saddle.

“To see a friend.” Ari responded simply. The Monk did not appreciate the diversion but remained silent from atop of Goliath as their horses walked parallel to each other along the trail. They had been on the path since dawn, stopping only once to let the boy go about his business. Lancelot removed his feet from his stirrups and let his long legs hang loose whilst they waited for the boy. He glanced at Ari occasionally as she turned her horse to watch the forest. They were still within Fey territory and were safe enough, but Ari has learnt that you can never be too careful, for you never know who or what will charge into your life.

She caught him staring once while they sat atop of their mounts in silence. He broke his eyes away quickly and felt an unusual flush creep away from his nose. She didn’t catch him staring again after that.

As they continued on the path the pair of adults were given no chances to think as the boy muttered on amusingly about a Fey girl, Nimue, and her sword and eventually, how he saved the Monk’s rear end from certain death.

“And then the guard pulled back his hood and, you looked like hell Lancelot. You still do,” Ari involuntarily chucked and the Monk cast an icy look in her direction. “That’s when I ran in,” the boy continued, “and I picked up a sword and I threatened them. They were so scared, I could tell,” Ari hummed in approval and she guessed that the boy was exaggerating when out of the corner of her eye she saw the Monk roll his, shaking his head from side to side subtly. “I was so ready to kill one of them ugly freaks, wasn’t I Lance?” The young one looked to the man beside them.

“You were brave” the Monk admitted. _Since when did he call me Lance?_ He hadn’t been called _Lance_ since he was a child. His voice was lighter than Ari had ever heard it before, not that he said much in the first place. The noises that came from him were mostly warnings to the boy and grunts of displeasure, but even these were few and far between. Ari wondered if he even knew how to hold a conversation.

When the sun started falling in the sky Ari stopped her golden horse abruptly, jolting the boy before her. The Monk halted Goliath a few paces ahead. He didn’t know why they’d stopped. When he turned to ask her she’d rotated her mount and was just staring out to the distance at the trees. Lancelot followed her eye-line but couldn’t see any cause for alarm, nor could he sense anything untowards either.

The Monk was about to insist that they kept moving when he blinked, and it were as if a veil between the trees had been lifted, for now before them in the distance was a quaint cottage built around the winding roots of the forest.

“You’re three days late” a croaky old feminine voice came from behind them, startling Lancelot, his horse, and the boy. Ari just smiled widely to herself.

“Apologies, Zurah, I was delayed.”

“ _I know, I know,_ ” the voice whittled out quickly as the woman waddled up to their view from between the horses, “by the _silent_ one and the _chatty_ one, I know,” she said, pointing to the man and then the boy. Ari rolled her eyes playfully, _of course she knew_ , Zurah always knows. Lancelot watched the elder continue towards the cottage with trepidation, his hand flexed around the hilt of his sword.

“Well, don’t just stand there, your food was ready an hour ago,” she called back to them, wafting her hand by her shoulder and gesturing for them to get a move on. Lancelot glanced to Ari and back to the disappearing figure, who had moved deceivingly quickly for her age. Ari motioned her horse to follow. She seemed to know this strange women, so he decided to trust her judgement. Lancelot took a breath and squeezed his horse to follow on behind her. When he reached the cottage, Squirrel and Ari had dismounted. Ari was looping her horse’s reins to a post in the ground and loosened the girth of his saddle before coming around to the house. Lancelot did the same.

He took a glance at the cottage, utterly confused at to how it had just appeared out of thin air. _Witchery_ , his inner paladin spat out in his thoughts.

The woman was old and weathered, her wrinkled skin tanned a dark olive colour by the sun. She was barely the boy’s height. “Come on in, sit down,” she welcomed them as they followed her inside. Ari took off her cloak and her sword belt, hanging them by the door. She had been here before many times. Zurah had grown to be like a mother to her, especially in recent years. She sat down in her usual spot under the window. There wasn’t much space within the cottage. A ring of seating gathered around a hearth built into the middle of the house, its smoke moving up out of the chimney above. Squirrel sat down cross legged onto a sheepskin rug to the right of Ari. Lancelot just stood still like a sentinel by the door. When Zurah’s back was turned, Ari cleared her throat and pointed over to the bench at the other side of the fire. Lancelot followed her pointed finger and she could tell he was uncomfortable. She widened her eyes at him and he gave up his position, moving to sit on the little wooden bench. Zurah turned around and offered a cup of something warm to Squirrel and Ari. She lifted another towards Lancelot who shook his head, _I’m fine_. Zurah lifted her eyebrow at him displeasingly, she was not going to back down from whatever this interaction was. Ari had to try not to laugh at how the tiny old woman, who was shorter than the Monk even when sitting, managed to gain some power over the man. He swallowed and looked down at the cup, seeing it was just soup he sighed and took the cup into his hands, “thank you.” Zurah’s face quickly turned into a smile and she moved back over to her worktable.

“You wish to find someone?” She asked to no-one in particular.

Ari answered her, “I’m taking the boy back to his people. He says they were leaving Gramaire for boats perhaps a week ago. Can you find them?” She took a sip from her soup, its warmth spreading up from her hands to her arms.

“Of course my child, wait right there,” the woman waddled over into her pantry. Lancelot too drank some of his soup whilst she was gone, he was grateful for something to fill his stomach. He looked down to the boy who was all but inhaling his own beverage. They heard the clanking of jars and glass as she rummaged around.

Squirrel, with soup covered lips leant over to Ari, “How is she going to find them?” He whispered.

“Fire,” she answered and then looked to Lancelot, hesitant, “she’s a Druid.” She watched his face harden and his eyes darken. His hands clasped tighter around his cup. He was not fond of Druids, they had always been trouble in his experience. He relaxed as he remembered that this was necessary for Percival’s sake.

The woman came back with a small glass bottle of brightly coloured green salt. She sat down on her rocking chair and turned to the boy, her voice slow and steady like the evening tide, “Now, what is your name my child?”

“Squirrel, but Lancelot refuses to call me that so its Percival.” This earned a gracious laugh from the elder Druid.

“Well then, lets see,” she quickly examined the salt, “have you any powers?” Squirrel shook his head. “Hmm,” she mused, “I will throw this into the fire, and you will have to think hard about who it is that you are searching for, can you do that?” He nodded. “Come here,” the boy moved closer to sit at her feet, the fire glowing on his left side. “Close your eyes, and think of them,” she instructed. Lancelot watched the pair eagerly, his face blank of expression. Zurah reached out her dainty hand and placed it on the side of the boy’s face. With the other, she poured out some of the green salts into the fire. Lancelot flinched as the flames grew suddenly, spitting green embers out into the air. The druid began to hum a tune, a _chant_. Lancelot felt his breathing quicken and looked to Ari, who seemed to be more interested in retying the leather around her wrists. He turned his head to study the boy, sitting still with his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. The air seemed to thicken in the room until Zurah’s chant stopped, and the flames dyed down into a normal yellow fire.

“They are on boats. The western sea is taking them south,” she said as she removed her hand from Squirrel’s face. He opened his eyes and looked up to her.

“South?” Ari raised her eyebrows.

“To Byzantine,” the druid confirmed.

Ari raised her hand to her forehead as she lent forward, rubbing at her temples as her elbows rested on her knees. “Okay,” she breathed out. It was not okay. She had been prepared to travel a little south-west from the camp to Gramaire, maybe even a little further if it would deliver the boy to where these ships he spoke of were supposed to be. But travelling the length of the Kingdom just for one boy was a big decision.

Lancelot could see this was troubling her, “I can take him,” he spoke up, provoking Ari to look at him with a steely gaze, “you can go back to your people.” She narrowed her eyes at him, “I am not letting him travel alone with you.”

“We’ll be alright,” Squirrel perked up from over by Zurah’s side. Ari threw him the same gaze she was giving the Monk, and he retreated back down. Ari rubbed her hand against her forehead again and stood up, walking out of the door into the early evening air. 

~•~

She felt better as her lungs filled with the scent of the forest. This was her home, she never thought that she would leave it. She had multiple problems running through her head. First, the journey to Byzantine would take days, if not a couple of weeks. Second, she had no assurance that the Fey they were seeking would be there when they arrived. Third, _the Monk_. Travelling with a murderer of her own kind was last thing she had ever wanted to do. She couldn’t be sure that he wouldn’t betray them if they ran into some of his brothers, or that she could believe he wouldn’t kill her whilst she slept. Fourth, her people. She didn’t want to leave them with the threat of a Paladin attack being more likely than ever before. Her thoughts raced through her head and she tried to decipher them from one another.

Zurah could sense her dilemmas, but also suspected that there was another which Ari was trying to ignore.

“Why is it, my child, that whenever I see you, you are always on your own? And now after all these years, you bring this man and boy to me?” Zurah asked, approaching Ari from behind.

Ari could not find the right words within her to say as she turned on her heels to throw a dead-panned expression the Druid’s way. Zurah narrowed her eyes at her, not with any mirth but as if she was solving a puzzle. “There is something which you seek from _him,_ ” she stated slowly.

Ari looked away, pursing her lips. “I need to know,” she began, her voice almost sad and pleading, “ _why?_ Why kill all those Fey? _His own people_ ,” her breaths were shaky as she shook her head. She felt a tear threatening to break from the corner of her eye.

Zurah placed a hand to Ari’s shoulder, and then up to cradle her cheek, “My child, I cannot give you the answers which you seek. When you learn to open your heart, _they_ will come to you in time. The answers you wish to know will follow.” She had never been a straight forward talker, always cryptic it seems as her magic gives her the power of foresight. Knowledge of the future can be dangerous if in the wrong hands, it can threaten to interfere with fate and destiny. So when she speaks of what is to come, she allows the listening ears to take from her words whatever it is that they wish to hear.

Ari sighed, tilting her face into the warmth of the elder’s hand, Zurah’s thumb brushing softly over her cheek. Her next words rolled delicately off of her tongue, “You’ve been alone for long enough now. It’s time.”

Ari’s heart began to ache at a memory she was trying to forget. Zurah nodded with a sad smile at the queen before her before she drew away and began to move back to the cottage, leaving Ari alone with her words. _Open your hear_ t, she had said. Ari shook her head, conflicted. When she had thought that she would have to use physical strength to make the Monk speak, _she failed_ , and he resigned into himself. Perhaps that was not the key to unlocking his mind. She was going to have to learn to communicate with a man who was more closed off than anyone she’d ever met. A gentle breeze passed through the trees and through her fingers, her wrist suddenly ached beneath her leather bounds. She thought she heard a whisper in the breeze, but it disappeared as swiftly as it came. She sighed. Perhaps it was going to take a different kind of strength from her to understand the Monk, one which she gave freely to most others, but not to _him_. Ari took a deep and long breath in and out.

When she returned inside, the woman had handed out more wooden bowls of food to the pair she had left behind. She rolled her eyes at the persistence to feed them, crowding over them like a mother hen. Lancelot kept looking warily at the fire, wondering what it might have shown him.

“You are searching for something too, Lancelot,” Zurah spoke to him and he broke his gaze from the fire and moved it over to her. Ari took up her seat by the window once more.

“The fires show you your past, your present, and your future. Whatever you seek young man, they will show you. But hear my warning, it is not for the feint of heart,” she explained. 

The church had always warned him against such witchery, _the work of the devil_. But now it was in front of him, ready to be used at his call, he felt the devil half of him pulling him towards the flames. And he was curious. _Too curious_. He didn’t know why but he looked to Ari as if for approval, or perhaps her reassurance that he could try. She nodded and lowered her face away from the small flames, bringing him some sense of privacy. He turned his head back to Zurah and nodded once, “I understand.” A look passed over her face that he could not place as she reached for the green salts. The boy looked on from his perch on the floor in wonder. Lancelot sighed and looked down into the fire, bracing himself against his knees as if it would help. Zurah began to chant a hushed song from her rocking chair, then threw some of the salts into the fire like before. The fire built itself taller and spat green embers again. A breeze crept into the room and Ari heard the whispers. She knew she should not look for her powers would allow her to see the shapes which took form in the flames, but she couldn’t take her eyes away fully. The Monk was an anomaly, half man, half monster. A mystery so enticing. What she began to see was not what she had imagined as the flames took form.

For many moments Lancelot could not see anything, until the figure of a falling woman came. She disappeared as if being dragged backwards from him. His face changed to sorrow as he recognised the figure. He wanted to reach out and pull her back but he couldn’t. The embers shifted to the shape of many men holding out swords, one stood out in particular darker than the rest. A pain resonated throughout his chest as he held his breath. The warmth of the flames whipped against his face with a sting. The fire grew taller. Hounds of white with blood red ears, eyes glowing like hell itself ran across his vision and he flinched. Then a lone man stood in the flames, his hand reaching out towards Lancelot as a tongue of flame. Zurah’s chant became louder, overbearing all other noise in his senses. The fire grew further and spat out dangerous embers. They showed him his past, _a forgotten nightmare_. He was _there_ that frightful day when the Paladins came and ended the Sunborns. He was _there_ on the night which started a war. Ari began to unwrap her wrist, knowing how this would end. The burning hand reached closer, almost at his knees as he stared at it. The whispers returned and were clear. _You were demon born._ A shiver splintered from his spine and the Monk hurled to his feet abruptly. Stumbling backwards as he knocked over the bench he had been sat on. His motion startled Squirrel who scurried back to the wall. Ari shot her uncovered hand towards the flames and diminished them down to a safe height. She didn’t think Lancelot had seen this for his eyes were glazed over, his jaw hanging open as his breath struggled to catch up to his rapidly expanding chest. Without warning he bolted out of the cottage, hurling the door shut behind him. Ari watched the door for a few seconds, then took a deep breath and stood to follow the Monk.

“Arianne-“ the elder began but was interrupted.

“ _I know_ ,” she looked to the Druid, “I know” she whispered again calmly.

~•~

Lancelot should not have looked into the flames. He knew he did not want to see the things that they would show him yet he did it anyway. _The devil is strong, and I am just a weak demon born_. His feet moved like he was a hare running away from the clutch of the jaws of the hounds he had recalled. Like he was running from his own shadow. He felt like he’d ran for a league when he came to halt at the edge of a brook. He stared down into the water, hands clenched in fists at his sides. The brook started to ripple. He screamed at the water and the ripples grew stronger and stronger. He pushed his clenched fists into his eyes, trying to extinguish what he had seen in the fires. It made him remember the Burning Night. How his mother was pulled back from him as his father fought against many red men. He was just a boy. He ran and ran until he was caught. _We will take this one_. Lancelot felt a breeze wave at his cloak.

_Wood violet. Leather. Earth._

“Lancelot?”

He spun his head on his neck to face hers. Her voice was soft in a way that nobody had spoken to him before, and she had used _his_ _name_. Ari could see the rage boiling over within his eyes as his teeth clamped down onto each other. She remembered Zurah’s advice, o _pen your hear_ t.

“Lancelot,” she repeated his name gently, calling like a siren for him to come back from wherever his mind had taken him. He looked back to the water, its ripples unrelenting. Lancelot felt his anger flow out and away from him as the foaming white torrents disappeared from the brook. His chest rose slowly as he noticed a golden light flowing along the ground from the water’s edge, carrying on behind him between his feet. He turned and followed the trail along the earth towards its origin. _It was her_.

Ari was motionless, knelt to the ground with her palm to the earth. Her head bowed but she looked up to meet him. She could feel the gold of her eyes glowing bright against her skin. His face failed to hide the fact that he was afraid. Ari removed her hand from the ground and stood up cautiously onto her feet. She had to be guarded, for right now he was scared and dangerous. The trail coming from where she had placed her hand disappeared at the loss of contact. With her head bowed again, she went to rewrap her hand in the leather. As her eyes were cast away she failed to notice the Monk had moved towards her until he grabbed her unwrapped hand.

“What the-” she flinched and he silenced her immediately with a look. She blinked back at his cautionary warning and closed her mouth. He held her hand up between them. He examined her palm carefully as she looked up and down from his eyes to her hand. He wanted to touch her palm, _to understand_. He saw faint dotted markings on her wrist which she always kept covered. Ari thought that his studying of her regular palm had gone on for long enough, and the silence was getting uncomfortable. She cleared her throat. His eyes went to hers and he dropped her wrist, the loose leather wrap flailing as her arm fell between them. His head tilted at her like a questioning puppy trying to figure her out.

“I can explain it to you, if you’d like?” Her voice was soft again, reaching out to him like before. Lancelot considered her, then straightened his head and nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I’d love to wish everyone who is celebrating today a Merry Christmas! I hope that you are all safe and well and have a lovely time in whatever way you are celebrating. If you are not celebrating today then I hope you have a wonderful weekend!  
> CB x
> 
> Back again with another long chapter! We get to meet Zurah, who is going to have a profound impact later on one of our main characters. We had quite a few things happening here, both Lancelot and Ari are conflicted in different ways and neither quite know what to do about it. We see hints towards their pasts and as usual, for things that are going to come (I have to say that I love a good foreshadowing). OH and we have seen more of the fey powers!


	7. the ashes that remain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ari and the Monk each realise that their lives have more in common than they first thought, and Lancelot wrestles with some feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW/ for mentions of childhood trauma.  
> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated (I've never written a story with this much complexity and little details) x

[[Moodboard](https://captainbucky-yt.tumblr.com/post/638766327046275072/youre-not-what-i-was-looking-for-weeping-monk)]

Ari sat opposite to Lancelot across from a small fire, for the sun was beginning to die. She was about to speak when they heard the cracking of twigs. Lancelot unsheathed his sword within a second and looked back towards where they’d come from. A moment later the boy appeared, escorted by the elder Druid.

“We wanted to make sure you weren’t dying in a ditch or something,” the boy said as he walked over to the fire.

Ari smiled genuinely at him, “We’re just,” she paused, “talking,” she concluded, turning her face to Lancelot.

“Well then, I’ll leave you to it.” The Druid said as she turned to waddle away. They watched her leave, and when they fell into a comfortable silence, Ari began. She told them the story of how The Hidden and the Fey were made. She told them how they inherited powers over the three realms, earth, fire and water, from the first Sunborn. And how some Fey had stronger abilities with their powers than others. Percival asked if he would get any Fey powers, to which Ari said that he would have to wait until he was a little older to find out, for the Sky folk’s abilities took a while to develop, and not all Sky folk received these gifts. Lancelot watched her articulate with intent as if he had never heard these stories before. He had, of course, when he was younger, but most of the details were lost to him now, replaced with the scriptures of the church.

Ari knew the question that was on Lancelot’s mind. Her powers were unlike any that he had seen before, and he was amazed. Though he would not let her know it.

“My powers aren’t like any others,” she began, “what you saw earlier was-“

“What happened earlier?” The boy interrupted, sitting up taller.

“Percival,” Lancelot warned at his interruption. Ari sighed, and instead of explaining, she thought that she might as well show the boy. Her hand was still unwrapped from before, so she crouched down from the rock and placed her palm to the dirt, her fingertips pointing towards the boy. Then slowly and steadily a golden trail made its way from under her hand, following the rivets of the ground towards Squirrel. The boy jumped up onto his feet, only to crouch down again onto his toes. He was captivated.

Lancelot watched as the glow moved closer to Squirrel. He wasn’t sure about what to expect but remained in a calm composed state. The boy’s eyes grew wider and wider and he wanted to reach out to touch the golden hue snaking towards him. Ari looked to Lancelot, as if to reassure the man that the boy would not be hurt. In the distance, Zurah smiled as she observed them quietly, and turned away to return to her home.

“I can control the energy of earth and life itself,” Ari explained, “I can _give_ ,” she paused, and a dying leaf nearby the trail became a bright green again, “and I can _take_ ,” the leaf reverted to its prior shade of brown. “Though I cannot bring back what is already lost.” She sighed. An unnamed expression washed over the Monk’s face which suggested that he understood now from this very simple explanation. She lowered her voice as if embarrassed of what she was going to admit, “I took it from you. At the brook,” she looked over the fire and into his eyes. Something flashed over his face. She expected him to be angry, but he wasn’t. It was something else. “You were losing yourself, I could feel that there was too much so I pulled it away from you and drew it into the ground.” She turned away from him. He didn’t know what to think. _It was a kindness_. He hadn’t known what happened earlier between them but now he understood. _This doesn’t explain the waters, though,_ he thought _._

Seeing that the boy was still occupied with poking at the golden ground, she thought that she should explain one thing more. “The other day, when you went to the river. I found you only because I-“ her mind fumbled over the words to describe how she found him exactly, “I can also search for someone, if I have a detail, an _energy_ that I can lock onto, then I can try to distinguish it from all others and follow it. It’s like,” she paused and saw him once again look a little confused, “listening to a bird song in the forest and knowing exactly which tree and branch it sits on.” It all made sense to him now. _She’s like me_. He can smell out Fey and track them just like she can. Lancelot had survived on this skill. it was also the reason why so many of her kind were gone, but she didn’t know this. He had hunted so many to the ends of the earth he had forgotten what it was like to be the prey. He didn’t dare tell her of his skill yet for these wounds were still raw. He wondered what it was that she held onto to find him at the river. Lancelot had zoned out in his thoughts but was brought back by “whereas your kind can summon the earth-“

“My kind?” He interrupted her.

“Sky folk,” she said plainly. At some point she had taken her hand away from the ground and sat back on the rock.

“I’m not Sky folk,” He retorted.

“You’re not?”

“No,” he replied as if it were obvious.

“Then, what are you?” Ari was confused. Like her, he looked practically human, except for his weeping eyes. She’d just passed them off as unusual and frankly unfortunate markings. Through her years she’d seen that the Sky, and her parents and subsequently herself, were the most alike to the human form. She had even once or twice passed unnoticed through busy human towns.

Lancelot ran his hands together from the other side of the fire. He was hesitant. There were only two who knew of his heritage, and one of them died whilst protecting his secret.

“Ash,” he admitted from under his hood.

Ari’s brows furrowed. Both her and the boy tilted their heads in confusion.

“What’re _Ash_?” The boy questioned. Lancelot looked up at her, his hood falling back a little. She had forgotten to place the Ash folk in her stories. She had never seen one and they were presumed extinct. They both ignored the boy’s question.

“How? The Ash were wiped out,” she gripped her hands together, suddenly remembering how her father taught her of the Burning Night.

“Not all of them,” he began, “I am the last,” he said solemnly, his voice breaking at the last of his words. Ari stared at him, her eyes beginning to well with tears. She broke away and looked down towards the fire. She couldn’t handle how his sad blue eyes glimmered in the fire light. It appears that she too would run away from herself today. _He’s like you_. Their lives seemed to entwine together then, like the roots of two old trees. They had lived separately on opposite sides for a lifetime, and now when they met in the middle, there was harmony. _He’s alone too_. Both of them the last Fey of their kinds. The boy said something and Ari was pulled back to the present.

“Hmm?” She looked over to the boy.

“What happened to the Ash?” Squirrel repeated himself when he realised that she had not heard him. Ari looked to Lancelot and thought that for his sake, it was better to leave that story for another time. _He was already in pain_. As if on cue the elder came back. She told them that it was now too risky to travel in the dark. She insisted that they would stay with her for the night, and so they did.

~•~

As they prepared their makeshift cots to sleep, Lancelot glanced back to the dying fireplace and then to Ari. He dared to take a few steps closer. She’d already revealed too much about her powers, one more detail couldn’t hurt.

“Percival said your hands moved the fire earlier,” his husky voice travelled across gently to her ears.

Ari sighed, “my fire powers are not as strong. My parents stopped using theirs after the Burning Night, so I never learned. I can change the flames and start small fires but,” she paused, biting down on her bottom lip.

“You don’t want to,” he finished for her. She nodded. He could understand why, after everything the Paladins have put them through. After everything _he’d_ put them through. She smiled up to him weakly before laying down onto her space on the floor.

Zurah was snoring from the room through the side door where her small bed lay. Squirrel was curled up dreaming by Ari’s feet. And Lancelot was struggling to sleep. It wasn’t the floor or the echoing pains in his back, but his mind. His thoughts kept pulling him back to the flames. He had to get away for just a moment to recollect himself. He quietly slid outside into the cool air. His cloak swayed gently in the breeze behind him as he stood quietly and breathed in. He found himself missing the feeling of being out on nights like this, of being able to sit and watch the moon as it faded across the pitch sky. Her recognisable scent caught him before he heard her, opening the door to step outside.

“Are you okay?” Ari’s quiet voice asked him. He angled his torso and looked at her, barely recognising her face in the dim light. He struggled to believe how one person could hold so much contradiction in their actions. The first day they met, she had been strong and formidable. Not to mention she tried to kill him. She fought against him and though he hated to admit it, she had won. She was restless and full of rage the next time her sword came towards him, threatening to kill him where he stood. And now in the moonlight there stood a different person. One who had calmed him when he was spiralling and who laughed at the boy’s useless jokes. One who took the time to explain to him what he wanted to know. One who was afraid to use fire because of what his people had done to hers and yet sought him out in the middle of the night to ask if he was alright. She was wrapped in the blanket that she had been sleeping on, and stood just outside of the pulled-to door with a small lantern dangling from her fingers. She waited patiently for a response.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he admitted, glancing away to the ground as if he were embarrassed.

“Because of what you saw in the fire?” His eyes looked up to her quickly. His eyebrows furrowed at her. “I saw what happened too,” she explained. Lancelot watched as her expression did not falter, she was not scared by what she saw. “You don’t have to tell me, but you should come back inside.” She turned to open the door but was halted before her fingers reached the handle, “You already saw,” he said, his voice flat and lifeless.

She turned back towards him, “Yes, but, I have learned that I am too quick to assume things these days,” she responded, somewhat lightheartedly with a gentle smirk gracing her features in the low light. Lancelot caught her expression. _In an odd way it suited her_ , he thought.

Lancelot sighed, “I was at the Fey court when _it_ happened.” Ari brought herself forward and kept quiet. She tilted her head, willing him to continue. He took a breath, “My Father was leader of the Ash folk, and I used to go with him to court. When _it_ happened,” Ari didn’t have to ask for she already understood, “my father fought off as many as he could whilst my mother and myself ran. Somebody grabbed her and pulled her away from me. She told me to run,” his breath hitched and he looked away. _Why do I say so much when you are around._ He’d never revealed this to anybody yet he was trusting her with it.

“The man from the fire,” Ari began, carefully watching for any change in his face, “who was he?”

Lancelot closed his eyes, his face almost disappearing under his hood. “Father Carden,” he opened his eyes only to look at the ground, “he took me and raised me. Turned me into, _this_ ,” he gestured towards himself.

Ari’s voice teetered on the edge of something indescribable, “You were just a boy. It’s not your fault.”

He looked up to her warm golden eyes. Her face was genuine and it sounded almost like forgiveness for his sins. But he knew it wasn’t. He was a heathen. Carden had told him that he could not save him from the fire, _the flames of hell_. So he resulted to doing his best to save others’ souls, and now he realised that all he was doing was creating more children like him. His head shook. _This pain, it will cleanse you_ , Lancelot had once said. “I had a choice,” he began. Ari’s mind flashed back to how he pinned her to the dirt with her sword the day before and had said contradictory words. _I had no choice_. His voice broke, “I had a choice,” he repeated, not sounding sure of himself like he usually was. Her chest rose slowly. “I _harmed_ the children, didn’t I?” He felt lost, realising that everything he’d thought was right was wrong.

“That’s what they trained you to do, you can’t blame yourself for that.” Ari didn’t recognise her voice as her own. She was empathising with him in a way she didn’t want to and yet it didn’t pain her as much as she thought it should. _Open your heart_ , but Ari had learned years ago was that her heart was not one that she should necessarily always trust. Yes, he was a killer and yes, he was a traitor to the Fey, but what is a man supposed to do when all that they had been taught was to hate. Growing up under the Paladins would have been like a sheep learning to hunt sheep because it grew up with wolves. _It wasn’t right_ , and he could never make it right. But accepting his errors would be a step in the right direction. Ari could see him unravelling at the edges. She stepped forward carefully, shrugging off the blanket from her shoulders and offering it and the lantern out to him. She could tell that he wanted to be alone, even though leaving him with his thoughts probably wasn’t the best thing to do this moment. She wanted to give him the choice. He took the blanket from her, his fingers brushing against hers lightly. “We will be leaving after dawn,” she told him. He looked up to meet her eyes and took the lantern in his other hand. She did not say anything more but stepped back and then turned, opening the door and dipping back into the warmth of the cottage. She doesn’t know when he came back, but he was there on his cot when she awoke, and the blanket she had given him was draping over her casually. They did not speak about what he had told her, or indeed of anything that had happened as they broke their fast. Squirrel asked mindless questions about magic and other things to Zurah for all of the early morning. She didn’t seem to mind the boy’s inquisition.

~•~

As usual, the boy was doing his best at agitating the Monk as they prepared the horses outside, “I thought you said you didn’t like talking.”

“What?” Lancelot’s face contorted at the boy as he brought the horses around to the gap in the trees by the house.

“You said you didn’t like talking, but you two are always yab, yab, yabbing away at each other,” Squirrel’s fingers pinched together like a crab mockingly while he grinned wickedly up at the man. He had woken at the sound of their interactions outside the night before.

“Do you want me to drag you behind Goliath again?” Lancelot threatened. There was no malice with it but he returned the boy’s jab swiftly.

“I’d rather not have to walk behind a horse with two rear ends,” Squirrel responded snarkily. This boy’s tongue was going to get him into trouble one day. _Perhaps Father was right_ , Lancelot pondered. He rolled his eyes and smirked at the boy's wit, lifting his head to look up as the door creaked open.

Ari stepped out of the doorway, followed by the waddling old Druid. “Thank you for everything,” Ari said gratefully as she turned to the Druid, “I promise I won’t leave it so long next time.” She smiled down at the older woman, seeing how her dark hair had begun to sprout grey wisps at the parting.

Zurah chuckled and looked at Ari fondly, then sighed. “You don’t need to thank me just yet,” she said, giving Ari a knowing look. But whatever she knew exactly, Ari did not know. The druid brought her hand to Ari’s elbow and ushered her towards the four waiting males, “Come now, you don’t want to be late.” Ari laughed quietly to herself as she walked over to Lancelot, who lifted his hand and presented her with her horse’s reins. She took them from him with an acknowledging nod and raised them over her horse’s head. Lancelot moved his horse away and mounted it with ease, adjusting the position of his cloak over Goliath’s rump. Ari got onto her horse and positioned herself back in the saddle, holding her hand out for the boy to take. She pulled him up and he settled in front of her. With a last glance and a smile back at the old Druid, she motioned her horse forwards and they walked off out into the trees. As they rode away, Squirrel twisted in the saddle and looked back around Ari, his face lighting up as he watched the cottage disappear behind the veil of Druid magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was mainly needed as a filler but I don't think its that bad, lol. Its understandable that Ari didn't recognise Lance as Ash, seeing as they don't really exist anymore (In a previous chapter I wrote that she assumed he was Sky folk). They both let their guard down a little and actually had conversations for once, with Lancelot talking somewhat freely through what he saw in the flames. That's the first step in him learning how to open up and trust someone with what's inside, and also the first steps in Ari learning what he's been through, and maybe even sympathising with the man (not the monk). As ever, information will be drip fed between the characters (hehe, sorry). I thought I'd throw in something a little cute for you with lance putting the blanket back over her as she slept.  
> Anyway, the next chapter is fast paced and is pivotal in the story so, be prepared :)


	8. a race against time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ari is forced to make a heartbreaking decision as the enemy crosses their path.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated x

[[Moodboard](https://captainbucky-yt.tumblr.com/post/639048713844719616/youre-not-what-i-was-looking-for-the-weeping)]

The trio heard the horses before the grumblings of several men coming from below them. They pulled their mounts to a halt within the trees. Below them was the valley which contained the road that they had rode into the forest on the morning before. Ari dismounted swiftly and unsheathed her sword, leaving the boy atop her horse, “Wait here.” She crept down the hillside between the trees and came to an edge where she could look down into the valley. She gasped at the line of red which was marching south along the road, south towards her camp. Her breath hitched as her heart beat fast within her chest.

“No. No, no, no, no, no, no!” She breathed out, panicking and getting progressively louder. A lump rose in her throat that made her want to be sick. She breathed in and clamped down on her jaw, bearing her teeth like an angry wolf. All she could see was red. She opened her mouth as if to scream but a hand clamped over her lips. Then suddenly she was being dragged backwards and down towards the ground, her feet kicking at the earth. She was pulled against something solid and brought her hands up to struggle against the hand around her face.

“ _Be. Quiet_.” _Lancelot_ , she realised. She muffled an incoherent exclamation into his palm but remained restless. “ _Quiet,_ ” he repeated more sternly, squeezing his hand around her face a little tighter. She kicked against the ground as he held her down to their floor, her back pressed in between his legs while he crouched against a tree for support. When he felt her breathing slow down, he loosened the grip on her face. And when he felt something watery land on his thumb, he let go of her face completely. _She was crying_ , he realised. Her body shook as she pressed into him, an unusual sensation for the man. One he’d only seen people do as they were about to give their last breath. They listened as the hooves of horses and boots of the Paladins marched away further towards her camp. Lancelot did not relax his arm around her middle until he was sure she would not bolt towards them when he did. With his former brothers finally far enough into the distance, he let her go. Ari pushed off of the Monk and sprang to her feet. She ran forwards to look over the ledge and down into the valley. She refused to look back at the Monk.

Lancelot too pushed himself slowly up off of the solid of the tree. “Percival,” his husky voice called out to the boy softly, never taking his eyes off of the woman in the distance.

“We’re here,” the boy responded, walking the two horses with ease up towards where the Monk stood. He turned his face and nodded at the boy, absentmindedly reaching his hand to press to Ari’s horse’s neck beside him. “Don’t move,” he said to the boy who nodded. With some hesitation, Lancelot stepped forwards until he was behind her but by her side.

“I have to get to the camp,” she breathed out, acknowledging his presence.

“We can’t go along the road,” he decided, wafting his hand in that general direction.

“ _I have to._ ” Her face still watched the road as she clenched her fists, trying to resist her panic. Running head first into danger was what she was used to.

“We _can’t_.” He stressed. _We? Since when were we a we,_ Ari thought for a second but the thought passed quickly. Her darkening eyes turned and glared at him, her face scared and ablaze with anger. Lancelot shook his head and she realised that she couldn’t go along the road without the Paladins noticing her. Her first possible route would be to head to the west through the forest trees, but this would only slow her down since the terrain grew dense and unsteady for most of the way in that direction. Ari would not make it in time. Her only other choice was to head east, a journey that would still take a half a day because of the wide river which bent and narrowed at very few points.

“You can’t save _everyone_ , Ari,” he tried to pacify her, lowering his voice sympathetically. He’d never said her name aloud before, and he thought it felt comfortable rolling off of his tongue. Ari considered his words but refused to accept them, shaking her head.

“I have to try,” she brushed past him and went for her horse standing patiently by the boy. “I’ll head east,” she began as she mounted her steed, “take the river pass. If he’s willing, we’ll make it by sundown,” she said as she took up the reins of her dun gelding. Lancelot nodded at her plan and went to take the reins of his own horse. “Take him back to the cottage,” she told Lancelot with a raise of her chin towards Squirrel.

“No!” The boy shouted defiantly, “I’m coming with you.” He moved as if he went to climb up onto her horse only for Lancelot’s hand to come down on his shoulder and pull him back. “Stop! I’m coming too!” He argued, moving as if to reach for the horse again.

“You are not,” Lancelot assured him, pulling him back towards his own horse.

“What in the Hid-” the boy began before Lancelot lifted him under the arms and up into the dark horse’s saddle.

“I will take him most of the way to your Druid and meet you back here,” Lancelot said as he climbed behind the boy, “we will head east,” he finished as he began to turn the horse away.

“I’ll be quicker on my own,” she insisted, refusing his proposal.

“And you’ll only have one sword,” he rebuffed, lifting his eyebrow. Ari was impatient to leave but knew he was right, his sword would be helpful if she unfortunately came across any of the Paladins. She pursed her lips together.

“Fine. Go, _quickly_.”

Lancelot nodded and spurred on Goliath. She watched as they cantered away before moving her horse towards the ledge, resigning herself to keep watch of the road whilst she waited. It was not long before Lancelot returned without the boy, leaving him in sight of the cottage and with enough details to explain to its occupant for his sudden return. Percival made him promise that they would both come back to get him and Lancelot agreed, albeit lightly. She turned when she heard the familiar hoof beats of his cantering steed and moved hers away from the ledge, beginning their decent into the valley and across the road. When the ground was no longer steep, she cantered off eastwards, leaving Lancelot a few paces behind in her shadow.

~•~

Lancelot felt a rush of adrenaline. He was so often used to being the stalking kind of predator that now he felt like he was the prey. They came to an incline and he spurred his horse forwards, leaning up into the saddle as they climbed. Ari stopped atop the mound of earth, her breaths escaping her rapidly. She scanned around the trees.

“Which way?” He asked as he tried to catch his breath. She did not respond, blinking hard. She didn’t know how much further they would need to go, or even if they had gone too far. She didn’t know the land as well on this side of the river for she usually didn’t cross it on her hunts. “ _Which way?_ ” He repeated.

“I don’t know!” She snapped at him. _This is her forest, how could she not know?_ Lancelot’s mind questioned but he kept it to himself, opting for his face to instead show his annoyance. Ari dismounted quickly and pushed the leather on her palm aside and the skin of her palm into the earth. She felt the rush of the river. _It’s not far_. But it was flowing too quickly to be a crossing point. She shook her head defeatedly and Lancelot thought he heard her growl in disappointment at herself. Lancelot took a deep breath and ran his hand over his hair before pulling his fallen hood back onto his head.

“Quiet,” he said.

“ _What?_ ” She rose to her feet beside her horse, her eyes throwing daggers his way. If looks could kill, he would most certainly not be living right now. He threw her a look to silence her and she reluctantly obeyed. He glanced around for one last time before he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. She watched him curiously as she stood silent. Then suddenly he opened his weeping eyes and looked immediately in the direction which his nose was telling him to follow to the camp. He had not wanted to reveal this part of him to her, it would only make her hate him more. _You were demon born_. But he had no choice.

“That way,” he pointed towards where his eye-line followed.

She turned her head in the same direction, “How do you know?”

He sighed quietly as he re-adjusted his grip on his reins and his posture in the saddle, “I just do”. He couldn’t look to her, he dared not to.

She snapped her head back to him, “ _How do you know?_ ” She pushed, her face contorting into something accusatory and questioning. He did not respond. They didn’t have time to waste.

“ _Lancelot_!” She shouted towards him.

“ _I can smell your Fey!_ ” He raised his voice back at her. A look of horror flashed across Ari’s face as she suddenly realised why the Paladins valued him so much. _He wasn’t just a skilled fighter._ He saw how her face changed and immediately regretted his admission. He breathed out and lowered his eyes away from her.

Ari was shocked at how he snapped at her. At the thing he just said. _He can smell us_. _That’s how he’s tracked Fey. How he knew I was with him at the river._ Her mind started to bring forth all of the things she had been wanting to say to him, her opinions on the monster before her. _You don’t have time for this_. With a great struggle she pushed them all back down and mounted her horse. She looked back at him, his eyes fixed towards his hands.

“Lead the way.” She said with mirth.

He dared not look at her, pushing his horse into a walk as he moved past her and then into a canter as he headed off.

She knew that now more than ever she shouldn’t trust him. What if it was just a trap to delay her from reaching her people? But she had no choice. She knew that the tracking abilities of the Weeping Monk were second to none. So now she chose to follow him. To follow _the Weeping Monk_.

Lancelot led them to a place where they could cross the river. He was sure that there would be narrower points further down, but they didn’t have time to continue. The crossing wasn’t going to be easy, it was slippery underfoot and deep in most places. They coaxed the horses calmly down into the water. Fortunately, both of their mounts had legs just long enough to allow them to walk through as the water flowed gently around them, their boots dangling just below the surface. “Easy, Goliath, easy,” she heard him reassure his horse when it had misplaced its footing. She was surprised at how he treated his horse, always offering reassurance when it needed it. _At least he’s kind to animals_.

When they came out of the other side, Lancelot checked their direction and almost immediately they were off at speed again. They soon came to the shallow river where she had dabbed away at his wounds days prior. She led their way across this time, recognising the terrain. She knew that just on the other side would be the trail which led straight into her camp.

~•~

She heard the bugle sound as she cantered into the clearing hastily. Fey dodged out of her way but more so out of the Monk’s, for the sight of him entering like this usually meant to Fey that they were not going to leave alive. The Tusk Hanna walked with long strides to meet them as they dismounted. A boy came and took her reins as she stepped forward, out of breath, leaving Lancelot to remain by the side of his horse.

“Why are you back? Where is the boy?” Hanna asked worriedly.

“Paladins,” she breathed out lowly, trying to catch her breath and calm her racing heart without letting too many of the Fey hear, “they’re on the road, they’re heading towards us.” Hanna’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped open. He felt his own heart begin to race.

“Are you sure?” He leaned in, whispering. She nodded. His eyes went up to the Monk who was stood quietly with his hand on his horse’s neck, stroking gently. He too nodded to the tusk. Hanna grit his teeth, “council?” He asked.

“Yeah,” she breathed out, still trying to catch her breath. Hanna turned to the Fey woman behind him, the one who sent a hawk up into the sky the last time Lancelot had ridden into the camp. Ari raised her hand to her forehead, she hadn’t yet thought of what she was going to do once she got back to the camp. In truth, she didn’t think that she would get here before the Paladins did.

Soon the four Fey made their way towards a large tent, Lancelot leaving his horse in the hands of the young boy. Several Fey started to gather in quickly. Lancelot stood in the shadows of the corner. _I shouldn’t be here_ , the felt. When Ari had made sure all the necessary Fey were present, she leant against the carved round wooden table in the centre of the tent, with the Fey standing around it with her. Lancelot watched them all from the edge.

“We saw the Red Paladins marching south along the forest road. I left the boy with a friend, his people are sailing to Byzantine. We rode here as quick as the horses would carry us through the river pass.”

“How many?” One Fey piped up.

Ari shook her head, swallowing, “sixty, maybe more. Most were on foot but enough were on horseback.”

“Weapons?” Another asked.

Ari sighed, “too many.”

“How long before they reach us?” A snake clan questioned.

Ari shook her head again, “they will be here within the day,” She confessed, the pain in her dry voice evident.

“Then you must leave,” Hanna spoke up.

“What? No!” Her voice filled the air. _I would never leave you to be murdered by them_.

“ _They cannot find you here_. Look at what they did to the Ash people. They’ll do the same to you.” Ari’s breath hitched and she stole a glance at the Ash man in the corner before returning to Hanna. It seemed nobody else knew of his origins. Lancelot remained resigned in the shadows, his eyes downcast under his hood.

“I will not abandon my people,” she protested.

“You are not abandoning us. You must go so that we can still have you alive when you return.” Hanna’s point made sense. She was the last Sunborn, _their queen._ She ruled them well and they knew it. “You’re a damn good queen,” he admitted proudly, “We need you to stay alive. You’re the last hope that we have.”

“You doubt my skills as a fighter that much?” She said with frustration.

“No, Your Grace. I just doubt that the bloody brothers wouldn’t stop chasing you until your head was on a spike and your body burning on a cross if they knew that you exist,” the words raced off of his tongue, “What say you, Monk?” He spat out. If anything, the Monk would be the one to best know of the Paladins’ plans and tactics, _and how to avoid them._

All eyes turned to him and Lancelot’s eyes shot up. _What was he supposed to say?_ He swallowed the lump in his throat.

“You have some time to leave but I would go as quickly as you can,” _they’re slower without me,_ “they’ll most likely come before dawn.” The Fey regarded him with caution, “and the Tusk is right,” he continued, making his eyes meet with Ari’s, his words intended for her ears only within a crowded room, “they will not stop hunting you until your _heart_ , is in _their_ hands.” To those words it felt like all of the air was sucked out of the room. It was a warning.

“I can be a distraction,” Ari turned quickly back to Hanna, “like you said, they’d want _me,_ I could lead them away _.”_

 _“_ They do not bargain with Fey lives,” the monk spoke up out of turn, the eyes around the table casting back to him, “one hundred Fey is a greater prize than one.”

“But you just said-” Ari started.

“ _I know what I said_. But they don’t care. Either way they will have you all killed. They might start out for _you,”_ he tilted his head at Ari, “but they will finish with _them_.” The Monk concluded as he glanced around at the Fey in the tent.

“Then it’s settled.” Hanna said, “you will ride back and continue south with the boy like you said before.” Ari turned her head to her trusted friend, tears beginning to well in her eyes. He could see her trepidation to leave them. As their queen she _should_ be here. “We’ll be alright,” he continued, “we’ll head for the haven. It will give us time to prepare an ambush if they followed us.”

Ari watched him for a moment before she nodded and swallowed the lump from her throat. She looked to the other Fey in the tent, each of them nodding in agreement with the Tusk. It was bittersweet. She wiped her hand over her nose as she concealed a sniff, her tongue lining the skin of her bottom lip as she bit down on it.

“Okay then.” She said reluctantly, and Lancelot could hear the sadness in her voice. “Be safe,” she looked up to Hanna, “all of you,” and then around to her elders and advisors. Lancelot felt like an intruder, so he slipped out from the tent and went to fetch their horses. Ari held back her emotions best as she could as she said her goodbyes.

When Ari stepped outside of the tent, she felt the relief of the crisp air on her skin. She was a fearsome queen and warrior for sure, but even she had her weaknesses. And the thought of losing the people she cared for was hers. She flexed her hands down by her sides. She took a deep breath and walked forward. When Ari looked up, she saw Lancelot walking towards her, leading both of their horses in hand.

“What are you doing?” She asked, her voice low and raspy as if she had been screaming.

“I’m coming with you.” Her eyes did a double take as she glared at him. Her mouth parting a little. “I promised Percival.” He tilted his head to her as he held out her horse’s reins. She looked at them in his hand. _I don’t need you_ , she thought. _I don’t want you_. She would rather leave him here for the Paladins to find. But she nodded anyway. In silence, she took the reins and lifted them over her horse’s head. She checked the saddle before mounting and heading out in the direction they had ridden in from.

Lancelot gave her space as they headed out. The silence for once was nearly killing him. He could almost feel the tension in her body as if she were beside him. He didn’t understand emotions. He understood war, swords, hunting and the Father’s teachings. But he didn’t understand her. He knew she’d made the right decision for the sake of her people and herself. But her _sadness_ , he didn’t know how to cope with that. _Sadness_ is not the same as _pain_. And he _knew_ pain. With each lashing he’s given to himself in his life, _he knew pain_. With every time the Father had called him demon born, _he knew pain_. But he was never sad, for he knew that all of that pain was cleansing his soul. His years as the grey Monk had beaten the emotion out of him. He thought it was all but lost until the boy showed up at his camp that day. He remembered that he had felt _something_ when he escaped on Goliath with the boy. And maybe, just maybe, that something was _sadness_. He looked up to her from under his hood, her body tensing to oppose the horse’s side to side lull. When he rode away from the Paladins that night, he had left everything he had ever known behind. Forsaken all that was his truth. He realised that that was what she was going through now as they rode along in a painful silence. For once, he felt like he wanted to say something, do something. Find some way to offer her reassurance that her people were clever, and that they would make it out in time. He struggled to find the words, and so thought of what it was he would have wanted Percival to say to him on their journey together from the camp. He nudged his horse to walk just beside hers, slowly enough to not startle her and far away enough to just remind her of his presence, though he doubted she’d care right now. She’d turn around and slice him with her dagger without a single thought if she sensed it was necessary.

“You’ll see them again.” His husky voice said softly. She merely stared at the path ahead and he wondered if she’d heard him. But then her head turned slightly down towards him and she nodded shallowly.

Ari breathed in and puffed up her chest, “come on.” Lancelot raised his eyebrow as he watched her centre herself, “Squirrel is waiting.” He fell back in line behind her and they spurred the horses forward. As they crossed the narrow river, they heard the faint sound of the bugle in the distance. Ari choked back a cry. They raced against the dying early winter sun and made it to the road just as the moon disappeared behind the now clouded sky. Ari knew the route to Zurah’s cottage from the road like the back of her hand. She coaxed her horse forward, reassuring his steps with a pat on the neck. Lancelot followed behind and did the same. And as the night began, they reached the boy, just as he had promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! Let's hope that 2021 is a lot better than the year we've just had.  
> Edit: I forgot to say that I appreciate and am so thankful for everyone that has stuck with this story so far! I initially just started writing it for myself and I didn’t think that anybody would like it, so thank you! Things start to move forward and develop from now on, Lance and Ari have actual conversations and things get, interesting... I’ve got until chapter 13 completed so, yay!
> 
> So we have picked up the pace in this chapter (finally!) and there's a lot of plot, I know. Lancelot has revealed his Fey senses which Ari isn't too happy about. It was a little tricky trying to justify Ari not staying with her people and I hope it makes sense, it was a difficult decision to make. As always, TENSION. I wonder what is going to happen next... onwards!


	9. breaking the surface

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ari worries for the fate of her people and Lancelot learns about the fate of one of his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW/ implied acts of religious violence and implied background character death(s).  
> Comments are greatly appreciated x

[[Moodboard](https://captainbucky-yt.tumblr.com/post/639401671291715585/youre-not-what-i-was-looking-for-the-weeping)]

Ari was not there when Lancelot woke up. Squirrel and the old druid were already alert and milling about making bread and boiling water from the brook. He sat up onto the edge of his cot and looked towards where Ari had slept. Her cloak was missing but she had left her sword. _A mistake_ , he thought. The boy and Druid didn’t seem too concerned about their missing friend. Lancelot rubbed his hand down over his face and rose up to his feet. He stepped outside, stretching his legs out to relieve the stiff ache of his muscles as he walked. He glanced around and couldn’t see her nearby, so moved away to a tree at the back of the house to relieve himself and went back inside.

The woman and boy made idle chatter as she told him stories from a past life, one where she was adventurous and free spirited. The boy simply watched her speak with wide eyes and interrupted her flow with a litter of over enthusiastic questions. _It’s too early for this_ , thought the Monk, as he pulled at his bread and tilted his head back into his hood.

“Why don’t you go and find Arianne?” Asked the Druid woman, breaking the calm within his mind. _Arianne?_ The boy and the Monk both wondered, simultaneously looking at the woman with confused faces. _Oh, Ari,_ the Monk realised.

“I don’t think that-” Lancelot started, her request catching him off guard.

“Now, now, _hush_. Go on,” the Druid swatted at him as she ushered him by the elbow to stand. She walked towards the door but Lancelot remained bent forward on the bench. He was the last person that Ari would probably want to see right now. He went to protest, “I-”

“Off you go now, Lancelot,” she ushered him again, her tone was serious but in a mischievous kind of way. A noise rattled from within the Monk's chest as he reluctantly rose to his feet. _She is a persistent woman that’s for sure_. He made his way to where the old Druid held the door open, pulling an unamused face at her as he walked past. He did not miss her winking not so subtly to the boy who just smiled from beside the fireplace. Lancelot walked a few paces before he stopped and breathed in the fresh morning air. Her horse was still tied over by Lancelot’s side to the post. He breathed in again, searching for the scent he was quickly learning. _Wood violet. Leather. Earth._

He found Ari by the babbling brook from two nights ago, almost sat in the same spot where he had stood as he was losing control of himself. He purposefully made a low noise as he approached to let her know that he was there. She was sitting cross legged on the ground, her cloak dirtying with mud beneath her. She rested with her hood up, a sight he hadn’t seen before. Her fingers twirled lazily in the brook as she got lost in her thoughts. Lancelot cleared his throat and tried to pull her into reality.

Ari did not move, she did not even flinch. “It will snow soon,” she said with a hoarse voice. Lancelot looked to the sky with an arched eyebrow, it was mostly clear. After yesterday he had cause to doubt her instincts, but thought that he might well believe her on this one, she was connected to the earth after all. 

Lancelot spoke gently, something which he was getting accustomed to where she was concerned and it unnerved him, “Your Druid sent me to look for you. She’s worried,” or so he believed. Ari’s lips drew together in a weak smile hidden from him for a second or two before she relaxed her face again. She was exhausted from thinking about her people, if they were safe at the haven or if they were lying dead within her camp.

“Come?” She asked him quietly, not taking her eyes off of her hand in the water. Lancelot moved closer cautiously, standing a few lengths away to her side to give her space. He didn’t understand why she called him nearer, but he went anyway. He watched her fingers poke at the edge of the waters.

“The other day, these waters moved in a way they shouldn’t have." It felt like a question, he had no answer. “When I took your energy, they stopped moving,” her brows knitted together as if she was only now just fixing the puzzle pieces together, she hadn't realised it at the time. She looked up to him, “you have water powers,” she stated, looking a little shaken. Lancelot shook his head, _no._ Ari tilted her head forward and looked at the Monk’s face under the hood, her forehead creasing upwards. _It wasn’t a question._ He _had_ made the water move.

He could feel her watching him and it made him uneasy. _You were demon born_ , the Father’s words echoed through his mind. He’d always known there was something. Water had always moved around him. Only a little, but still it moved. Two nights ago was the most it had ever rippled, and it honestly scared him. Ari could tell that his mind was whirling like the wind. She had to do something, the Weeping Monk was not steady when he was all up in his thoughts.

“Would you sit with me?” She broke his trance and he stared at her with wild eyes. Her soft features remained holding his sharp edges, but he did not move. “It’s okay,” she reassured him, or maybe herself. After a moment Lancelot nodded, and hesitantly mimicked her seated position where he had been stood, sighing through his aches as he got comfortable. Ari chose what she was going to ask of him very carefully.

“Put your hand in the water.” His head turned abruptly, eyes looking fearful as they locked onto her’s. _Whatever he can do, he can’t control it, s_ he guessed. He still looked afraid so she unwrapped her hand fully and put it into the water, showing him that she was there to catch him if he faltered. This action seemed to reassure him as she saw how his features relaxed. Lancelot looked down to the edge of the shallow bank. He blinked a few times and reached out. It's true he was afraid. _It’s only water,_ he reminded himself. Yet maybe it wasn’t the water that he was really afraid of. His fingers broke the surface of the brook. Ari nodded curtly to him, encouraging, and he dared to go further. The water reached up to the hem of his overcoat sleeve and he stopped. Nothing happened.

Ari too felt no new energy flow through the water. “How did you make it move last time?” She asked him quietly _._

His head twitched. _No_ , he thought, refusing to go to that place in his mind again. She recalled his state from the other night, a ball of untamed rage driven by fear. She didn’t want him to go there in his head. She tried to give him a crutch to lean on, speaking gently and truthfully, “When I use my powers, I sometimes think of something that makes me happy. Something I can centre back towards. It helps to _channel_ the energy.” She looked up through her eyelashes to see he had tensed again. Perhaps her words were a mistake, she could tell he was struggling with what she’d said. When she’d used her power to help him, she did not feel any joy. All she could sense in his soul was sadness and pain, so much so that it nearly overwhelmed her. “Perhaps you could-”

“Percival,” he said seriously. She stopped her train of thoughts suddenly, her lips parting just a little. “Percival,” he concluded. She felt the corners of her mouth wanting to smile. If it showed or not, she didn’t know.

Lancelot thought of the boy. How he was just like him as a child, not that he remembered much of his youth anyway. His memories were mostly torn from him by the church. He thought of how the boy stood up for him at the camp. How he held up that sword and was ready to race into the jaws of the trinity guard for him. How he showed him kindness even when he didn’t deserve it. The water moved out from his hand. Lancelot blinked and widened his eyes. Ari’s jaw dropped as she too felt the energy of the ripple. She stared at his face with a mix of wonder and confusion. _He’s Ash folk_ , she remembered. _His markings, they show his powers_. Those who have control over the realms usually have some sort of marking which gives their powers away, hers was hidden beneath the bounds around her wrists. She did not recognise his as being realm markings before. "Try again," she encouraged him softly. Lancelot gazed back down into the water and thought of the boy again. How he was almost...almost like a brother. _A real brother_ , a connection Lancelot had longed to have for years. Or at least in time, he thought that they could grow to be. The ripples around his palm grew into two, then three, then six. He gazed down into the water, amazed and petrified, and he swore he felt his heart skip a beat.

Ari smiled across from him, suddenly feeling a tug at her heart strings. _You’ve been alone for long enough now, its time, s_ he heard Zurah’s voice say. Ari retreated her hand from the water abruptly and Lancelot’s face quickly changed to concern as he turned to her. She would not look at him at first, but when she did there were faint tears lining her eyes. Lancelot searched her face as he pulled his own hand back from the water, _have I done something wrong?_ He felt himself lean a little closer to her but he would not reach out.

“Congratulations,” she said although she was obviously not happy, pulling back her tears before they fell, “you’re a water Fey.” Ari stood up without giving him a chance to even think of a reply. She got up and practically ran. _Away. Run away. Back to the cottage_ her mind told her. Ari chided herself for the way she was acting, _you're a queen for hidden's sake, act like it_. She did not want to appear weak in front of the Monk, _again_. She tried to pull herself back together but soon felt dizzy as the Monk suddenly rounded in front of her. His head tilted at her in confusion, his forehead creasing down as he searched for a reason. Lancelot thought he had upset her, and since he was so new to rediscovering emotions, he needed to know. Ari bit down onto her lip, letting the mask of the fearless queen she was trying to rebuild slip away. “I knew someone who died because of me,” she said solemnly. When Lancelot seemed even more confused she clarified, “He drowned.” And then he understood, though not really. “There aren’t many water Fey in the camp, most who have powers are earth bearers. I had,” she paused, “ _forgotten_.” She sighed, “He was a water Fey too.” _What are you doing, why are you even confiding in the Monk about this._ She drew in a hasty breath and looked away, moving past him and back to the cottage. He moved to give her space as she walked around him. She let a few stray tears roll down her cheeks before pulling herself back together and wiping her face dry. She pulled on the mask of a warrior queen as she stepped back into the cottage.

~•~

“Are we leaving soon?” Squirrel asked as Ari began to tie her sword belt around her waist. Lancelot eyed her carefully, she had not spoken to him since their encounter earlier.

“Yes,” she responded dryly. She was in no mood for conversations.

“What route will you be taking?” Zurah spoke up from her pantry doorway, bringing forth wrapped cheeses and breads for them to take on their journey. It wasn’t much between the three of them, but it would get them through a day or two. She handed them to Squirrel.

Ari had been thinking about their route to Byzantine before she was disturbed by the Monk at the brook. After pondering over the question for a few moments, Ari replied, “I want to check that my camp is safe first.”

Lancelot had been standing beside his bench quietly, his hands grasped behind his back and under his cloak whilst he waited. Her response annoyed him, _another delay_. “They’ll be fine,” he said stupidly.

Ari’s head whipped up to him, her eyes suddenly like steel, not gold. “You can _smell_ that, can you?” She bit back at him. Whatever calmness she had this morning was gone and replaced with a hollow bitterness. She had not forgotten what had made its way towards her people, or about the Monk’s other abilities. Lancelot narrowed his eyes at her, holding back his tongue. Father Carden had spoken to him with a similar tone many times, and Lancelot’s responses usually earned him nothing but grief. He glanced down and saw her knuckles whitening around the hilt of her sword. He had to be careful, for the queen was dangerous when she was angry. When he didn’t respond, Ari stalked over to him and squared up at his toes, searching his face. She spoke quietly, _threateningly_. “I told you when we left, to not make me regret my decision. I let you live when others would not have been so kind,” he watched her eyes as she spoke, full of rage and fire but her body was cool, “we check the camp, then we move on. Are we clear?” She eyed him.

Lancelot hadn’t noticed how his hand had drifted over his sword, his fingers tapping the hilt softly like a feather. He nodded his head. Ari glared at him for one more moment before she stepped backwards, neutralising the threat. It was a dangerous game that they were balancing along a very thin line. Squirrel just looked on as if he was used to this kind of squabbling between them.

Ari stepped back over to her place by the window. “We’ll check the camp, then head east for a day or two and circle back west towards Beggar’s coast. We can follow the road down from there,” she nodded reassuringly to the boy who smiled simply back at her.

Lancelot rolled his eyes, “That will add on two days, we should just go straight for Gramaire,” he rebuffed.

Ari found herself turning her face to the Monk once more. “No, because it is going to _snow_ ,” she raised her eyebrows at the man, “and I don’t particularly want to be riding through _those_ forests when it snows, do you?” She grew impatient with his insistence on ignoring what she had told him. The western land between Zurah’s cottage and Gramaire was tough to ride even in the summer, with many bog lands and virtually no flatness to allow for speed. It would be difficult for them but even worse for the horses. It might take longer to go the eastern route, but once they clear past the camp, the forests would eventually flatten and they could regain some of their lost time, even in the forthcoming snow. Lancelot shook his head and conceded. “Okay then, that’s settled. _Let’s go,_ ” Ari motioned her head at Squirrel, indicating it was time to leave. The boy came around the fire to her and she stepped back towards the door.

“I would like a word with this young man before you leave,” Zurah voiced from within her rocking chair, gesturing subtly at Lancelot. Ari glanced between them and nodded. She had always trusted Zurah, she was a good judge of character and had a way of understanding what was within someone’s mind before she had even met them.

“Come on, we’ll get the horses ready,” Ari pat Squirrel on the shoulder and ushered him towards the door. Lancelot turned slowly towards the Druid, his thumbs rubbing over his fingers anxiously at his sides. He had never liked Druids, but this one he was beginning to tolerate with a little scepticism. The elder woman pushed herself up and out of her chair and waddled over to him.

“Listen to my words, my child,” she began, her voice smooth like silk, “do not let your _past_ , decide who you want to be _now_.” She held out her hand and reached for his. He was reluctant but he let her take it, she would get it anyway. Zurah had felt something about the man the minute he had arrived with Ari. Something within him which would turn the tables of fate. She rummaged for something in her skirt pocket as she continued slowly, making sure he would hear every single word. “There will come a time, when the fate of the Fey kind will rest on your shoulders,” she paused, pressing something into his palm and then curling his long fingers over it. Her weathered grey eyes looked up to his face, “That time may be nearer than you’d think.” Lancelot looked from his closed palm to scan her face, as if committing her words to memory. “You were once, _Lancelot,”_ she reminded him, squeezing his fingers over his palm with her warm hands.

His mouth parted, “ _Lancelot_ was just a boy.”

“Perhaps,” she pressed her hand over his closed palm again as she still held onto it, “but every great man was once, _just a boy._ ” She looked up and into his eyes for a moment, pressing her lips together into a kind smile. Then she let go of his hand and moved past him and headed out of the door. He looked down to his fist and unfurled his palm. He sighed involuntarily, he’d seen many of these before. Lancelot had been stripped of his own when he was young, he couldn’t even remember what it looked like. He had never thought he would receive another, but the Druid had given it to him and it was now _his_. Though he did not know if he was ready for it or deserving of it. He stuffed it into the small pocket on the inside of his grey tunic and with one last look at the fire, turned on his heels and headed outside.

~•~

They rode out along the river pass like Ari and Lancelot had done before. The boy once again occupied their ears with mindless chatter. Lancelot was amazed that the boy had anything left to talk about, for he always seemed to find something new. Lancelot’s paladin brothers had never really taken much notice of the Monk outside of their murderous outings. They only spoke to him to receive instructions or ask questions, or else they left him alone. He was their superior and they knew it. And so, Lancelot had gotten used to occupying his own mind and being on his own. He felt strange travelling with two others, as everything he’d done he’d done by himself. If they were searching for Fey, he would often go ahead on his own and wait for them to join. It was quicker that way. He felt himself getting less tense, like something was slowly pulling him back from the edge, but the edge was still there. He was still not trusted and he would never be. By the boy _maybe_ , but Ari? _Unlikely_. Over the last months as his faith had begun to waver. He found himself yearning to know intimacy. Not the romantic kind as such, but the intimacy that came with a simple touch or a quiet word. The feeling of being able to sit with somebody around a fire under the stars or to look within somebody’s eyes and feel like he was accepted. To know someone in depth and have them know him, scars and all. He loathed himself for wanting such things. He was an abomination, _a weapon_ and nothing more. Weapons could not feel, and he knew he did not deserve to.

They made it to the shallow river beside the camp with perhaps a few hours of sunlight left before they would be in darkness. Ari thought that since he was here, she might as well make use of the Monk’s senses. It would save them some time and probably keep them from having their heads removed from their bodies, should any Paladins be lurking around.

“Do you smell anything, _Monk_?” She spat out his moniker with a click of her tongue as if it was dirt. Ari had learned yesterday of his ability to smell out Fey. She could forgive him for his naturally heightened senses, they were a gift from his ancestors. She herself knew how difficult that they could be to shut out, hence the leathers she kept wrapped around her palms. But she would not forgive his trespass in using them to willingly hunt for Fey, _his own kind_.

Lancelot felt a bitter taste on his tongue, he should have known that she would not let that go. He was quiet as he looked across the water. He took a breath and blocked out the noise of the river flow.

“There’s something there,” he said, feeling a sudden pain within his chest. “There’s Fey but,” he paused, his head shaking side to side subtly. He turned his face to Ari and the boy. Ari looked as if she had felt his pain. To Lancelot, the stench of burnt flesh and blood in the distance was so strong within the air around him, he could nearly taste it. It choked him like it always did but he would never let it show. Ari looked down, forcing the emotion off of her face. She nudged her horse over towards a tree and sided up next to it. Lancelot recognised what she was about to do, “You don’t want to do that,” he said lowly.

“I have to know,” she responded, uncovering her hand and placing it against the tree. The rush of the earth turned into something dangerous which felt like darkness and consumed her. She felt nothing but death and the anger of the earth as wood burned and life drained into the ground like it was sucking the air out of the sky. It overwhelmed her, enveloped her. Pulled her in towards the darkness. Her heart sunk so far that she might never recover it. If she were closer to the camp then the pain most certainly could have killed her. Lancelot watched her, _how can she do this to herself?_ He quickly pushed aside the fact that he understood the itch to punish oneself for your actions _._ He moved his horse over to hers and took the reins from Squirrel, who had grabbed onto them when Ari had let go. Lancelot pulled their horses away back towards the bank and Ari’s hand subsequently detached from the tree. He watched her, seeing how her face had become pale and lifeless. Ari couldn’t feel anything but the darkness of death. _Her people_. She looked as though a spirit had passed through her and taken everything she had within. She started to fall but the boy twisted and caught her. Lancelot jumped down from Goliath and was promptly at the boy’s side, who struggled to keep her upright on the horse. Lancelot pushed her back up so that she was straight and kept his hand on her arm. And in that moment, the sky opened and it began to snow. Ari blinked tightly as she started to come around. She knew her gift could be a burden but she needed to know what had happened in the camp. She needed to know if her people were safe. Lancelot waited patiently for her to come back to them. 

Ari grimaced in pain, “There’s ten lost, maybe twelve or fifteen,” she said through broken breaths. She squeezed her eyes tightly again, her head pounding with a splintering ache. She felt something pressing against her arm, keeping her in place. Squirrel put his tiny hand into hers, gripping comfortingly.

Lancelot’s voice cut through the pounding in her head, “There’s nothing you can do for them, not whilst the Paladins are still in there.” Lancelot knew his attempt to console her was futile as he studied her face, he was severely out of practice with this.

“I, I have to go in,” she breathed out urgently.

“No, _you can’t_ ,” Squirrel squeezed her hand again, “you’ll be dead too if you do.” Lancelot glared at him and Squirrel realised how he had seriously miscalculated his words.

Lancelot sighed, “if there’s only a few then the rest must have gotten out and will be moving towards the haven,” _wherever that is_. He sighed again, “I’ll go in.”

Ari’s hazy eyes shot down to him, suddenly alert and throwing daggers as she tensed. “How will that be useful?” She raised her voice, catching him off guard.

Lancelot pulled his hand which was steadying her away from her arm and back down to his side, she seemed to not need it anymore. He frowned at her, “who are the Paladins least likely to kill?” He looked at her with a dumbfounded expression, _she could not be that stupid_. He let her lapse of judgement pass as an effect of whatever it was that was reeling through her body and tormenting her mind. Anger flashed across her face as soon as he had spoken, and he realised that his words were a mistake. _How could I be that stupid._ He huffed at his own ignorance and began to turn but Ari’s hand reached and gripped onto his shoulder, stopping him. The air grew thick around them as he turned his face to hers, jaw clenching as he frowned at the solid expression on her face. It was a look which said that she did not trust him, and it made his skin crawl. Squirrel glanced awkwardly between them. 

“How do I know you won’t betray us?” She spat out, her voice seething through her teeth. Lancelot’s face hardened at the implication behind her words. He pushed her hand off of his shoulder and strode over to his horse.

“If I am not back by sundown,” he said seriously as he gathered his reins, “then you will have your answer.”

~•~

Lancelot found a different trail to the one they had used before and walked Goliath into the camp. A whinny from his horse alerted the Paladins that they were not alone. They went to unsheathe their swords and turned before they recognised that it was the Weeping Monk.

“My weeping brother!” One of them called out to him, sheathing his sword. He began to walk towards the Monk. “We did not know you would be joining us, we would have saved a few for you!” Lancelot’s jaw clenched at the insinuation behind the red’s phrasing. “Why _are_ you with us?” The paladin asked as he came to a stop in front of Goliath. As ever, Lancelot didn’t say anything to the red and allowed him to make his own assumptions. He narrowed his eyes at him and dismounted. A different paladin came to hold the reins of Goliath as Lancelot stepped away. His eye caught the unfortunate sight of the lost Fey. He had not recognised any of them but he felt something stirred within him all the same. He exhaled and walked slowly over to where they lay, the red following urgently behind him at his side.

“How many?” Lancelot’s hoarse voice cut through the stench in the air.

“We got twelve of the demons,” he was pleased, “the camp seemed to have been practically empty,” and Lancelot knew why.

Lancelot looked up to the distant tree line, “How many escaped?”

“We don’t know, brother,” the red shook his head.

Lancelot turned and narrowed his eyes at him, the mask of _The Weeping Monk_ returning without hesitation. “ _You don’t know_ ,” he berated the man with his own admission. It was frightening how easily he slipped back into the ways of the Monk that he was trying to break away from.

“It was difficult to tell, brother.” The red tried to defend himself.

Lancelot looked around to the gathering Paladins, “Where are the rest of you?”

“The rest?” The red was confused.

“For a camp this size there should be at least double your numbers. Where are they?” He rose his voice, _pushing_ , staring down at the man as if he were a child.

“They went back onto the road to head west, towards Gramaire.”

“Who is leading you?”

“I am,” the red said proudly.

Lancelot’s eyes narrowed once again, “Where is Father Carden?” He asked intensely. The red swallowed and took a step back. When Lancelot followed his step, the Paladin’s eyes started to look terrified of the Monk. “Where. Is. He?” Lancelot pushed again, following the red’s steps. His hand gripped around his sword.

The Paladin took a deep shaky breath, “Have you not heard the news brother?”

Lancelot tilted his head at the red, _news?_

The paladin hesitated, taking another step backwards, “I, I would have thought you’d have known?”

Lancelot followed his steps threateningly, “Known what?” He seethed, _something was wrong_. His eyes darkened.

The red stopped, looking towards his brothers for support. He turned his head back to the towering weeping monk.

“Father Carden, _he’s dead_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were many things going on in this chapter (which is the longest so far). I was a little nervous for this chapter, particularly for what's happened at the camp, and the next couple of chapters. There's going to be quite a bit of them trying to work through their conflict and differences coming next so buckle up for the ride. But don't worry, things start to look up after that and our characters might even start to find their senses of humour.  
> On the bright side, LANCELOT HAS POWERS! I tried to hint subtly at it in a couple of the previous chapters so hopefully you might have caught onto that.  
> Anyway, let me know what you think? :)


	10. the twilight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ari, Squirrel and Lancelot seek shelter in an abandoned barn while Lancelot struggles to deal with a hard truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW/ for mentions of childhood trauma/abuse, religious based and internal conflict. Nothing is in too much detail but I will put the TW respectfully.  
> Comments are always appreciated x

[[Moodboard](https://captainbucky-yt.tumblr.com/post/639777323770593280/youre-not-what-i-was-looking-for-weeping-monk)]

“Father Carden, _he’s dead_.”

The paladin should have chosen his words better for Lancelot’s sword was instantly at his throat. “Deceit is a sin, brother,” he warned, eyes dark and irate. The red wavered, his body tensing as he tried to pull back.

“I do not lie brother, we had word from the Abbot, Wicklow,” Lancelot pressed his sword further into the man’s skin. The red grit his teeth and tried not to resist, “it is true, I am sorry, _brother_. He is gone.” Lancelot stared deeply at the man’s face. He was not lying, he would know it. Lancelot withdrew his sword and pushed the red away. The man stumbled backwards and almost hit the floor before two others caught him. More Paladins had come out from behind huts and tents at the commotion. They all seemed shocked that their Weeping Monk was here before them, and even more so that he had threatened one of his own. _He should kill them_. By rights as a Fey he should. Ari would not protest against it. But he was not thinking. His eyes were wild as they darted through the red crowd. His breathing became erratic, feeling them closing in on him like vultures at a feast. Lancelot wanted to run. He eyed them all as his heartbeat got out of control. Then his instincts took over and he strode backwards before turning and mounting Goliath, taking his reins roughly from the Paladin.

“Brother!” One called out to him but Lancelot ignored him, his head thumping like a jackrabbit. He spun Goliath around and cantered off back through the trees.

He got to the river and halted Goliath. As far as he could tell, none of the brothers had tried to follow him but he was not sure. He stared down into the water, his nostrils flaring furiously like an irate stallion. _Father Carden is dead._

“Lancelot!” Squirrel shouted over to him and broke his transfixion on the river. He spurred Goliath forward and splashed his way over to the other side of the bank. Squirrel and Ari had moved themselves onto a lightly covered with snow mound of earth to give her horse a rest when Lancelot left. Ari didn’t think that she could hold herself up for much longer anyway, with the darkness still reeling through her body. She cried and mourned for her friends whilst she was alone with the boy, who comforted her as best as he could. 

“Get up, get on your horse,” he said to the pair with an ill-tempered urgency. “Get up,” he repeated more forcefully, head turning back to watch the trail across the river as goliath danced anxiously, “we have to go.” Ari could feel the true panic in his voice and it wasn't just his impatience. Though anybody else would probably have missed it, she had seen it before. They did as Lancelot ordered, making their way onto her horse as fast as they could and followed off after him.

~•~

The snow was coming down heavier on their heads now and soon it would be too dangerous for the horses to continue in the disappearing sunlight. The falling snow thankfully covered their tracks behind them, so it was unlikely that any Paladins would be able to easily find them. Ari and Lancelot were both focussed on the ground ahead when the boy spoke up, “What’s that?”

The adults both looked to the boy and then followed where his finger was pointing out from beneath Ari's cloak which she had pulled around him. He directed their attention down the side of the slope and into the mouth of the valley. Lancelot was on that side of their trail and immediately pulled Goliath to a halt. He could see the roof of a modest barn between the trees below them. “It’s a barn.” Goliath tossed his head back as if he were somehow agreeing. Lancelot brought his hand to the horse's neck to ease him.

Ari’s eyes widened at the thought of shelter being so close. She didn’t particularly want to spend a night in the snow for she felt it already setting into her bones. She pushed aside the grief of her lost ones for now. “I’ll look, wait here,” Lancelot said to the pair beside him. He dismounted and handed Goliath’s reins over to Ari. He descended down the slope and soon disappeared out of sight. The pair waited whilst Ari watched the trail behind them and Squirrel kept his eyes forward into the unknown. It was not too long before Lancelot returned, breathing a little heavily as he emerged from the slope.

“It’s steep, muddy, and rocky, but the barn is empty, and _dry_ ,” he stressed, his gruff voice breaking through the silence of the snowfall. “We could stay for tonight?” He looked to Ari, she had reminded him earlier that their movements were her choice to make and hers only. He had disobeyed when he had cantered off into the camp, _her camp_. But now he stood asking for her approval. Ari looked back at their disappearing tracks and then forwards to the trail ahead. There really was no better option.

“Okay,” she sighed.

They each dismounted and let the horses navigate their own ways down to the barn as they themselves manoeuvred their descent of the slope towards the shelter. Squirrel went on ahead of them, he was smaller and more nimble than either of them could ever be. But the boy was also impatient. Ari and Lancelot took their time descending, their feet navigating the rocks and the mud in the lowlight. They were gravitating close together but not too close, until Ari’s foot caught an unsuspecting slippery rock and her body toppled sideways. Lancelot’s arm shot out and wrapped around her waist without warning to catch her. She could feel the warmth of his hand through her cloak, and it sent something through her which made her heart ache for the past. _For a memory_. She looked up to him sharply, her torso pressing into his side. Embarrassment crept over her face, she did not want his help. He would not meet her face but watched as she got her feet back into alignment. He held onto her, steadying her before he let go, letting his arm hang down by his side when he did.

Ari was not an unkind woman so resigned to thank him for breaking her fall. “Thank you,” she said lowly, still leaning a little into his side. She caught how his face started to redden from his nose outwards, reducing him to a younger version of himself. She suspected that catching falling women wasn’t something he usually did. He nodded subtly at her, still not meeting her gaze, _you’re welcome_. Ari lowered her eyes from him and started to carry on down the bank. Lancelot waited back a moment whilst Ari continued slowly in front of him.

“Watch your feet,” he said with a smug smile hidden under his hood. Ari rolled her eyes but found herself smile for a second at the boyish sarcasm he gave which she hadn’t seen before. It reminded her of someone she once loved. _If he hadn’t of grown up as a Paladin, then he might have gotten on well within her camp_ , she thought.

Lancelot didn’t know why he had thrown his arm out to catch her. By all accounts, they should be enemies, and they certainly were not friends. She was not phased by his presence and nor him, _hers_. It was what wasn’t being said between them that caused him to be wary. His hand flexed down by his side, the one which had held onto the warmth of her waist and kept her close. He shook his head, forgetting the feeling and continued down the trail she was leaving behind her.

When they reached the bottom of the valley, Squirrel had both of the horses’ reins in his hands. He was grinning at them, making it apparent that he had caught their little interactions on the slope. Ari eyed the boy as she walked to him with a faint limp which she tried to shake off. “What?” She asked the boy teasingly.

The child grinned back at her with a wicked smile, “oh, nothing,” he retorted, elongating the ‘nothing’ unnecessarily.

Lancelot had immediately headed to the barn once his feet had gotten him safely onto flat ground. With a few tugs on the door he pushed it open, its hinges creaking as it moved. He held it open for them to get inside, followed by the horses. “I’ll get some firewood,” he said, pulling the door to and walking off into the darkness surrounding the trees. Ari led the horses towards one end of the barn, feeling her way through the darkness. She got them to stand and untacked their saddles. She left the bridles on in case they needed to get away in the night, since a saddle-less horse was still rideable, albeit uncomfortable. She looped each of their reins through circles of rope tied to the walls of the barn, leaving them enough length to lie down if they wished.

~•~

“Do you have a name for your horse?” The boy asked as he stroked over its coat with some old straw he had picked up off of the floor. 

“No,” Ari replied as she put his saddle down to lean against the wooden panelling, and wondered why she didn’t. It wasn’t an uncommon thing to do. Even the Monk’s horse had a name. “Why don’t you name him for me?” She asked him lightly. 

“ _I can’t name him_ , he’s the queen’s horse.” Ari’s eyes squinted at him in the low light as she moved over towards the centre of the barn, halfway between the monk and the boy. 

“So?” She asked, her shoulders coming a little up to her ears and down again.

“Because he’s the _queen’s_ horse,” the boy stressed again, “he needs something good, something _regal_ and _noble_. I can’t think of names like that,” he responded with a dejected tone. The poor child had been through so much yet naming a horse was the thing that deflated him. 

Lancelot listened to the conversation unfold while working on lighting the firewood he had collected. He would have asked Ari for help lighting it but he remembered that she didn’t want to use those powers. He respected that decision. Lancelot could understand where the boy’s point was coming from, but he failed to remember any of his father’s horses having names that were regal or noble.

Lancelot’s father, _Ban_ , was a noble of the court and the leader of the Ash. He was a generous and well respected man with a good alliance to the Sunborns and the good human king. Lancelot’s outings to court were often boring since there were few Fey children hanging aimlessly around the castle. Every now and then his father allowed his cousin, _Bors_ , to come with him when he knew that they would be away for only a day or two. Bors was the only Fey child at the castle that never mocked Lancelot. All of the rest, however few there were, were not Ash, and because of his father’s status, they jested him and called him the _Ash prince_. Lancelot never understood why.

Ari chuckled at the boy as she took a step back over in his direction, “haven’t you noticed that I don’t care for all the formalities?” She asked him, raising her eyebrow. He looked to her with an optimistic expression, remembering how he had embarrassed himself with a ridiculous bow at her camp. “Name him however you’d like,” she said, gesturing towards her damp horse. The boy’s face lit up further. He’d never had a horse to name before and so set about examining the animal to find the name which would fit him just right. Ari smiled to herself and turned back to where Lancelot was tending to their fire. She took a couple of steps but then a sharp pain rattled up her leg from her ankle and she gave way, falling to her knee. She winced as she fell and Lancelot quickly came to her side. He wasn’t fast enough to catch her though so just stood awkwardly at her toes.

“You gonna help me or just stand there?” She said with a surprisingly lighthearted tone that caught Lancelot off guard. He huffed and bent forward to offer his hands. She took hold of one of his wrists, and then slowly reached for the other. He pulled her up surprisingly gently and looked down to where she was hovering her foot above the ground.

“Ankle?” He asked.

“Yeah, must have caught it when I slipped,” she hissed.

“Sit,” he advised, lightly tugging her wrists to encourage her forwards. She hopped and then put some of her weight down onto her ankle, testing it. When the pain didn’t come back, she tried to take a step. It stung a little but it wasn’t sharp. Between them, they got her over to the ground by the fire. Lancelot rolled out a dusty old thick blanket that was thrown over one of the divisions in the barn and put it down next to Ari. She shuffled over and sat down onto it, grateful that she wouldn’t quite be sleeping on a cold floor tonight. She brought her ankle towards her and began to undo her boot. After a quick examination, she determined that nothing was broken, and that it should likely be okay in the morning.

Ari watched Lancelot as he walked over towards the horses and rummaged through their saddle bags for the cheese and bread that Zurah had provided them with. Squirrel was pacing around Ari’s horse lost in thought when Lancelot approached. “Why is your horse named Goliath?” He asked the man.

“Because he’s tall,” Lancelot responded quickly, not putting much focus on the boy as he searched for the food items.

“That doesn’t make sense,” the boy looked at him cluelessly.

Lancelot looked down at Squirrel, forgetting that he was Fey and not a Christian. He would have no knowledge of the holy bible. “It’s from the scriptures,” he clarified. Ari narrowed her eyes at him but didn’t say anything. Squirrel did the same. Lancelot caught how the boy was looking at him. “Goliath was a _giant_ ,” he explained further, and the boy seemed to understand, moaning a drawn out ‘oh’ as if the light had just switched on inside his head. Lancelot rolled his eyes. “ _Here_ ,” he said, turning to the boy and handing him one of the parcels of cheese. The boy took it out of his palm and squirrelled away to a patch of old straw beside the horses to eat his fill.

“Try not to eat it _all_ , Squirrel,” Ari called from the other side of the barn. She smiled in the boy’s direction as he seemed to not care for her advice, stuffing his face full with delight. Lancelot walked over and sat across from her to the side of the fire. He passed her the bread and he opened the wrap of cheese, breaking it in half and handing the wrapped portion over to her. She did the same with the bread and returned it to him, saving some for if Squirrel decided he was still hungry. They ate quietly for several minutes. Ari stole glances in the Monk’s direction. He was yet to say anything about what he had seen in the camp for they were too busy finding shelter.

She said his name and Lancelot broke his gaze away from the bread in his hands, turning his eyes to her from under his hood. “Tell me,” she ordered softly, “about the camp.” He searched her face, doubting wether she really should want to know. When her face didn’t waver, he took it that she was serious.

“Twelve,” he said quietly, hushing his voice from the ears of the boy who was still busy with his cheese, and the horse. Ari closed her eyes slowly and brought her hand up to her forehead. Lancelot saw how his words disheartened her. “There would have been more, if you had not gotten to them so quickly,” he offered, breaking the bread between his fingers. Ari squeezed her eyes tighter and tried to hide her face beneath her hand. She knew that he was right. “There were no children or women,” he said quietly, thinking that it might be a small relief. _It wasn’t_.

Ari sighed deeply. “The Paladins?” She asked, her forlorn eyes looking up to him. The glow of the fire danced across his face and she almost forgot that he was one of them.

“Maybe twenty, the rest had moved on. They’re riding towards Gramaire.”

Ari took in another deep breath. That was not good. By Squirrel’s accounts, Nimue's Fey followers had overturned the Paladin rule of Gramaire. She did not know how many had remained there or even the whole story. The boy was good at missing details. 

“What did you say to them?” she asked, for he surely could not have gotten in and out without saying something. She should have been there.

Lancelot shook his head once, “I didn’t answer their questions.”

Ari nodded, breaking her eyes away from his face for a second. Her mind turned, she was curious. “What did they say to you?” Her curiosity reflected in her voice. Lancelot’s face hardened and Ari didn’t miss from under her eyelashes how his jaw clenched. He turned his eyes away to the fire. Ari’s face grew darker at his indignation as she glared at him, _he knows something_. She leaned forward somewhat boldly, “ _What did they say?”_ She repeated sternly, slowly, exaggerating each syllable.

Lancelot bit down on his lip as he looked into the flames, “Nothing of importance.” He lied.

“ _Monk,_ ” she raised her voice at him, causing the boy to look around suddenly towards them. It disturbed Lancelot how she had shifted so quickly away from her soft demeanour to this.

After a moment, Lancelot said with a guttural and melancholy tone that resonated from deep within his chest, “Father Carden is dead.”

Ari blinked and sat back slowly. He had told her of Carden, of how he was the one to find him and turn him into this broken mess. He did not sound like a pleasant man, but Lancelot seemed taken aback by the news. With the way his body had shifted and the change in his voice, he sounded like he was grieving. _Perhaps he cared for the monster,_ Ari thought.

“Are you sure?” She asked him. Lancelot could not bring himself to speak, his head ducking down into his hood to get away from her strong gaze. He didn’t want it to be true. The man was his Father, the only thing that he had ever known. He nodded his head from beneath the safety of his hood. “You are upset by this?” She asked candidly, her tone indicating she was not even disturbed by the news of Carden’s demise.

Lancelot didn’t know if he was upset or not. One half of him said that he should be and the other told him to be glad. Neither side managed to overpower the other in his mind. He whispered, trying to rationalise his thoughts, “He was my _Father.”_

“He _killed_ your Father,” Ari retorted immediately. Lancelot’s eyes darted to hers.

“He _raised_ me,” he said defensively, trying to make some sense of what he was feeling.

“He _beat_ you,” She responded directly, earning a rise from Lancelot as he turned his face fully towards her. His hardened eyes displayed his displeasure with her assumption. “The scars across your back were from him, were they not,” she stated, recalling the bloody patchwork of his skin. He hadn’t told her this. _He didn’t need to._ Ari had not brought them up before but she was frustrated. His scars were her leverage to make him realise what wrong had been done unto him. It was cruel, but necessary. Lancelot turned his head to the listening boy, his eyes forcing the child to turn away. _He should not have to hear this_. He came back to Ari and leant in to her space. She could hear how his breathing shook from where she sat.

 _“You know nothing,"_ he seethed out through his teeth, tilting into her threateningly.

 _“I know enough,”_ she retorted with the same poisonous grit. She couldn’t believe how he was so blind to the Paladins that he no longer knew right from wrong. Lancelot’s fists clenched within his lap. Her evasive words lingered in his mind. _How is it she is able to read me like this_. His whole body tensed as he stared her indignantly in the eye.

Ari felt a breeze creeping through the woodwork. The marks across her wrist ached, _open your heart,_ the wind whispered. She broke her eyes away from him, feeling guilty for humiliating him like that without thinking. Her tongue traced her bottom lip before she pulled her mouth together tightly. She realised that he was waiting for her to say something else, to give him another excuse to look at her the way he _was_ doing. She decided to offer up something which he might not have been expecting.

“I am sorry,” she said clearly. Lancelot blinked at her and was suddenly taken aback, _why is she apologising?_ Ari continued, “for the way that they have treated you. I _know_ that I don’t know of everything that has happened to you and, I _can’t_ forgive what you have done to the Fey, but,” she paused and looked up to him, her hands twisting together within her lap. His hard eyes were watching her eagerly, “I am beginning to understand, _why,”_ she stressed. “You didn’t know anything else and that’s on Carden, _not you_.” Her voice broke and she turned her face from him. Lancelot was beginning to recognise it now too, just how much Carden had torn him from the Fey, _isolated_ him, brought him into their world and forced him to forget who he was. Carden made him into a monster, told him that it was them against the others and Lancelot had believed him blindly. Ari’s painful honesty had brought him to the edge of realising this, he was so close but he was not quite there. He needed her words, no matter how much they would hurt him.

Lancelot felt his heart beating strongly inside of his chest. He looked at her as if she was the sun breaking through the dawn, though she did not see it for she was looking away. He thought she was finished but she said one thing more, “That’s why you saved Squirrel,” she tilted her forehead towards the boy in the corner, recalling how Lancelot had not answered her question by the river beside her camp. “You didn’t want him to suffer your fate.” She was right, he knew it. Lancelot’s body released some of the tension it was holding and he felt the waters of his eyes betraying him.

At the mention of his name, the boy turned around and looked to the man. His eyes were full of something like sympathy, having listened to all that Ari had said. Squirrel stood up slowly and came over to the fire. Lancelot heard him move and acknowledged him with a slight twist of his head, but he kept his eyes softly on her. He thought that the boy was going to joke at him, berate him for something so menial like he usually did. But when the hand of the boy came to rest on the man’s shoulder, Lancelot did not know how to feel. “Thank you,” the small voice said honestly.

Something pulled at Lancelot’s chest and he could not handle the feeling it gave him. It was pain and regret and sadness and relief all rolled into one. It was painful but it did not hurt. His breathing grew unsteady. Lancelot would not look at the boy for he did not want him to see how his eyes were welling with the tears that he had always been taught not to shed. He reached his hand up across his chest and placed it over Squirrel’s on his shoulder. Ari saw the gesture out of the corner of her eye. She found herself once again breaking for the man, the monster. _The lost soul_.

Lancelot squeezed the boy’s hand and went to stand up. As soon as he did, the boy’s hand slipped away as Lancelot towered over him. Then Lancelot did something which he never thought he would ever get to do, something which he didn’t think he would _deserve_ to do.

Lancelot lifted his hand and placed it on the side of the boy’s head as the corner of his lips pulled into a genuine but untrained small smile. And to his surprise, the boy smiled warmly back up at him. Ari’s chest clenched around her heart as she watched Lancelot step away and out into the darkness and the cold night air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof the angst (I'm sorry). Our babies are trying to rationalise a lot of things, and neither of them are quite doing it right. Ari is deeply frustrated and is acting harshly. Lancelot is repressing his grief over Carden. Squirrel is just being Squirrel.  
> These next chapters start to show how Lancelot’s revelations, thought process and his growing relationship with Ari are not linear. They have their ups and downs, their moments of being soft and moments (okay a lot of moments) of angst. Ari is however starting to see the man through the cracks. And Lancelot is learning about her too in a not so obvious way.  
> I'm giving you prior warning that the next chapter is quite heavy. Without spoilers, I will say that a lot happens within Lancelot's mind. Its a bit of a roller coaster so be prepared.


	11. sins of the father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lancelot reaches a breaking point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW// retrospective childhood/religious/physical/psychological trauma, minor self-inflicted wounds.  
> Comments are greatly appreciated, I'd love to hear what you think x

[[Moodboard](https://captainbucky-yt.tumblr.com/post/640314773620310016/youre-not-what-i-was-looking-for-weeping-monk)]

Lancelot’s eyes drifted up towards the clouds in the night sky as he paced around the clearing outside of the barn. The pale moon stared down back at him, the one constant in his life. _His Grace, I cannot feel it._ Somewhere along the way Lancelot had lost himself, and had begun to lose his faith in the scriptures until the useful shell of _the grey monk_ was all that remained. Everything else was not a necessity for _the_ _one who cries_. Emotions only made him weak, he could not afford to have them. He stared up at the sky as his thoughts pounded through his head. Lancelot had grown up believing that the Fey had abandoned him. He hoped and he prayed that somebody would ride in and take him away from the Paladins. And when nobody came, he lost faith in them too. _He’s just a boy, he’s no threat to us._ Lancelot had not known if he was speaking of the boy, _Percival_ , or for the child that he had used to be when he rose his voice against Father Carden. For every scared Fey child that dared to look at him, Lancelot saw something of himself. He saw a reflection of him, terrified and alone on the night that his world changed. The night that burned into his memory as he was dragged away, bound and bruised and bloodied. It did not take long for Lancelot to numb to the hurt that their faces caused him. He thought that he spared the children so that they would not have to feel the same pain as he had done. For everything that he took from them, at least they would have their lives. When he watched his red brothers drag Percival away, he could not resign to allowing his own past to be repeated with another innocent Fey boy. The boy’s life was threatened, and Lancelot decided to grow a conscience.

He paced back and forth making tracks in the snow, fists tensing for something to grasp onto. _You were demon born, an abomination in the eyes of God._ For years he was this and only this, and now he didn’t know who he was supposed to be. His soul had been broken and damned for all eternity the day that the brothers turned him into one of their own. But he was never really one of them. They looked at him differently, like he was dirt on their boots. His thoughts raced through his mind as the moon taunted him with its wicked light. _I spared you from the fire, because you could sense your own kind. I gave you scripture. Gave you discipline. I forged you into one of our sharpest blades. I turned you against your maker._ Lancelot reached out towards the darkness surrounding him, his chest breaking as he bared his teeth to the moon. Something moved in the air making him feel like he was not alone.

 _I laid the first brick on your road to salvation._ It wasn’t the scriptures or his God or even himself that was destined to save his soul from the flames, _it was the boy_. The Fey boy who Lancelot decided was worth fighting for. He felt the moonlight reflecting off of his birthmarks. Falling to his knees, he let go of his will to hold everything back. The wind whistled at him mockingly.

Father never gave him a choice. He was _damned_ if he did and _damned_ if he didn’t. _Mark my words. If I burn, I’ll not burn alone_. Lancelot’s frustration seethed through his gritted teeth like water through his fingers as he glared at the moon tormenting him from above.

“Do you love me, Father?” Lancelot had asked.

“Of course I do.” Lancelot did not believe him.

“ _Even if I am damned?_ ”

Carden raised him like a son, but it was not _love_. He taught him everything that he knew, but it was not _love_. And now he was dead, Lancelot could never say what he wanted to say to him.

“ _Why?”_ He called out to the stars, fists balling and balling as he leant into his knees until his nails dug into his skin.

“What did I do wrong? I, I gave you everything!” He shouted so that the Father’s blackened soul would hear him even from the depths of hell. He let his body give way to the hurt and his torso toppled forward, forehead pressing into the cold, bitter snow. The air struggled to come from his aching chest.

“I killed them. I-I killed them all, for you! For your,” he broke, “ _your hatred_. _For nothing_!” He felt the wet tears run down cold over his marks, the scars across his back begging for pain.

“I thought, we were doing the right thing-you told me it was right,” he picked his heavy head back up to the sky, breaking through the veil that had been held over him for all of his life. He had killed his own kind, _innocents_ , those who had never harmed him. He was blind to it all. The hood fell back to reveal his face. His breathing laboured for a moment, but then his words were quiet like a prayer, “I didn’t know it, but I see it now. You’re wrong,” he shook his head, eyes stinging, “you’re wrong!” His hoarse voice echoed louder through the trees and up towards the clouds, loud enough to almost shake the snow from the branches.

“No more!” He cried up at the sky, trembling. His chest collapsed as he sighed, “No more.”

Lancelot’s eyes fell shut, his body giving in to the tiredness within his bones and mind.

“I should never have followed you,” he said, hands relaxing onto his thighs. A lump caught in his throat as his breathing rattled through his body. He exhaled in a whisper, “You are not my father.”

Lancelot felt like a weight had been taken off of his chest, relieving him of a pain he had carried and learned to ignore for years. He expelled the grey monk with a painful cry to the heavens and fell down into the snow. It burned his skin but he did not care, letting his tears drop into the ground to wash away with the coming dawn. Then a warmth came slowly over his shoulder and across his back. He leaned into it, the soothing embrace pulling him home.

~•~

Ari looked up from the boy who was curled up on the spread out blanket by the fire. She was holding Lancelot’s hand in hers, her thumb running over the roughness of his palm. She tilted the water skin with her other hand and let the droplets run over his cuts. He had squeezed his fists so tightly that he had broken his own skin of his palms. It stung, a little, but he did not flinch. Ari kept her eyes down, focussing on his hand. She did not know what to say to him. He had not protested when she brought him back quietly into the barn, offering to clean his palms for him to which he silently nodded. He looked too drained of everything to do it himself. They weren’t deep but they had to be cleaned.

She had caused this _. If I had just kept my mouth shut then he would not have acted this way_. She was sorry, yes, but some part of her wasn’t. He had needed to open his eyes to the fact that his life with Carden was damaging to himself, as well as the obvious repercussions his actions had on the Fey. It wasn’t going to be easy for him and it was definitely going to hurt.She used a cloth that had been stored within her saddle bag to press away the drying blood from the fissures on his palm. Her hand moved and she did the same to his other hand, taking it gently within hers. She had enough clean cloth to wrap his palms a couple of times to stop any dirt from undoing her work.

They had been sitting on the floor together in comfortable silence as she cared for his wounds, surrounded by the crackling of the fire. Lancelot never took his tired eyes away from her face. Her gesture was kind in a way that he was not used to. Lancelot felt something stir within him and he did not push it away, twilight always has a way of revealing things that are often not seen.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely when she was done, his throat aching from his cries. The apology finally prompted Ari to look up to his face, the tired weariness of his eyes burning into her skin. He looked so broken as he pursed his lips, face silently screaming with a desperation and grief that she had also once known. He was sorry for everything that he had done, and for not realising it sooner.“There are not enough words, _to apologise_ ,” he said lowly, his head shaking within his hood that hid him like a monster from the world. Ari felt like the ground shifted beneath her, _she believed him_. They didn’t know this yet but his actions would soon come to speak louder than his voice ever could. Ari gave him a weak smile in sympathy and squeezed his hand lightly, she could see his face trying to hold back any tears. It felt, _intimate_. Lancelot found comfort in her gentle touch, and he might have even liked it.

Ari had been sat beside the door and had heard everything that Lancelot had called out, the boy pressed into her as she wrapped her arms around him. The child was frightened by the way his companion was reeling, seeking the comfort that she could provide as Lancelot spiralled outside. Squirrel had witnessed this kind of thing before, and it had scared him then too.Ari heard it in Lancelot’s voice how he was changing, how his perception of the life he had lived was becoming clearer to him. It was as if something had unlocked within his mind and he was now opening to the other side of him for the first time. The _other_ which had been repressed and isolated through no choice of his own. She saw him then, for who he is. _The lost one._

When she heard the cries of the man turn to gentler sobs, Ari had prized the boy away from her and wrapped him in the blanket. She opened the door slowly and saw the mass of darkness bent over in the snow, mourning for the loss of something she would never fully understand. She had never seen a man so strong like him turn into something so suddenly overpowered by sorrow. He looked like just a boy.The queen within her wanted to fix it, he was _her_ responsibility as a Fey, and she would not wish such pain like this on another person, _she knew better_. But Lancelot was not somebody who could be fixed by someone else. He needed to figure out this new life in his own way, and it would take time. But Ari could not leave him out here in the freezing cold like this.

She took a deep breath in, cautious of the sword resting against his hip. She treaded carefully through the snow, feeling the flakes as they crunched beneath her feet. Lancelot didn’t seem to have heard her approaching. She crouched down at his side and he must have sensed that she was there then, for he did not flinch when she reached out her hand to rest on his shoulder. He did not push her away, did not tell her to leave him or go. Instead she felt him lean into her touch, _wanting_ the comfort. She took it as a sign and moved her other arm across his back to his side, careful of the wounds across his skin which undoubtedly had not healed yet. He gave in, leaning further into her warmth, balancing out the cold of the snow beneath him. She held him still as he drew back his silent tears.

When Lancelot began to sit up, he could not look at her. He was ashamed, _embarrassed_. _Monsters don’t cry_. He had never been allowed to. He never forgot the first time he cried in front of a Paladin. _Are you crying boy? I’ll give you something to cry about._ He walked away with new marks on his face that day.They knelt beside each other in the snow. Ari kept her eyes averted from his face but she knew that he was still in pain on the inside. She had to do something. Lancelot’s eyes darted to her hand as it moved to hover above the snow. She noticed how his eyes followed her, then recognised what she was offering. So much had been taken from him. So much had been out of his control. She wanted to let him decide.

“Do you want me to?” She asked, her voice low and soft as velvet. He didn’t know the answer. Pain was once good, pain _cleansed_ him. _Pain_ reminded him of who he was. But he wasn’t that person anymore, pain wasn’t something necessary in his life anymore. He shook his head anyway, wanting to get this emotion out of his system on his own. He needed to learn how to. Lancelot did appreciate her offer though.

Ari dipped her head, _okay_.

~•~

Ari stood up and went over to the barn doors, leaving Lancelot sat by the fire he had built earlier. With a glance to the sleeping boy, she pulled on the doors to see if they would stay shut if anyone tried to get in. Lancelot watched her as she went to take some of the rope from beside the horses. He was grateful that she hadn’t brought up anything about what he had said outside. He had never spoken like that or given over to his deeply repressed emotions in that way. _It scared him_ , how much resentment he actually had buried within him for Carden, his father figure and teacher. _His captor and tormentor_. Lancelot knew he was never going to have closure with his untimely death, so he cried out as if the Father could hear him. He said all that was needed to be said, and he hoped that she understood this.

Ari returned to the doors with the rope, looping it around and through the handles to give them a little extra security. She picked up a stone off of the door and balanced it on one of the handles, a trick her father had taught her, with hopes that the noise of it falling might alert them to an intruder’s presence. In an ideal situation, she would have had something which would actually make more noise, but the stone would have to do. She moved over and sat down onto the large blanket next to the sleeping child, pulling her cloak around herself. She looked to Lancelot, his rigid frame sat uncomfortably by the fire. The dirt floor was practically frozen solid and she knew he would insist on sleeping on it, if he even managed to sleep at all. She looked to the empty blanket beside her, _he had been through enough for one evening_.

“It’s big enough for three you know,” she said lightly, giving a tired gesture to the remainder of the space available. Lancelot looked to her but quickly turned his eyes away. He felt how his face flushed at her suggestion and tried to hide it by leaning further into the firelight. Ari did not miss how his skin sprouted the familiar pink from his nose. She hadn’t intended for it to come across as a different kind of offer, but perhaps to him it seemed that way. She didn’t want to assume anything but from what she had seen, Paladins were all male and always on their own. _Maybe he has never slept next to a woman,_ she thought. Sure they had stayed together at Zurah’s but that was different. She wouldn’t force him to do something that he was uncomfortable with.

Ari felt herself needing to clarify, “I didn’t mean that-”

“I know,” he said lowly, watching the fire with intent as it flickered.

Ari pursed her lips and nodded shallowly, “Well, if you decide you don’t want to sleep on the frozen ground,” she whispered gently to not wake the boy, “there’s space here.” Ari left the door open for him to decide. In her mind, the comfort of the blanket beneath him was by far the more rational option, and she wasn’t bothered about him sleeping beside her as long as he kept to himself. It would not be the first time she had laid next to a man. Ari let herself roll back and onto her side. She faced towards the boy who was curled up in a tiny ball. Her hands pulled the edge of the blanket up over him, brushing his hair gently away from his eyes, and soon she felt her own eyes grow heavy. Her thoughts wandered to those that she had lost today. She did now know which of her friends had passed or who had made it out, but that fact did not stop her from crying silently for their spirits as her heart tugged at her beneath her chest. _They would not get to rest_.

She was nearly asleep when something moved behind her, feeling the fabric shift as he laid down on the remainder of the blanket. It was their first night of sleeping alone and Ari was surprised that she didn’t feel more uncomfortable with the man. Or maybe she was just too tired to even care. If he had wanted to harm her, he would have done it by now. She let the man be, and drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that this chapter is shorter than usual but i wanted it to stand as its own chapter. I told you it was heavy. Carden's death combined with their 'argument' in the last chapter just caused everything to boil over and he just needed one big moment to realise everything and let it out. And of course, Ari was there to help him pick himself back up. This then puts the two of them on the beginning of a new footing and shifts their dynamic, which neither of them will quite know what to do with. Let's just say that the next chapter gets interesting :D  
> (Also, we're a couple of chapters away from my favourite so far)  
> AH I almost forgot, they shared a blanket!


	12. hesitations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ari opens up about a part of her past and Lancelot is once again, conflicted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW/ canon-typical violence, internal conflict.  
> Comments are greatly appreciated, I love to know what you think x

[[Moodboard](https://captainbucky-yt.tumblr.com/post/640859193456427008/youre-not-what-i-was-looking-for-weeping-monk)]

The boy was now not the only thing tying the ex-monk and the queen together. Neither of them were comfortable with this overall situation and with the new footing that they had found themselves on. After what was said and done the night before, Lancelot didn’t know how to treat her. He was a lost soul trying to find his way and she was everything that he had been taught to hate. She frustrated him, how she was gentle and calm yet a raging sea and burning fire all the same. She made no sense to him. Lancelot sought to understand. He’d never met a woman like her, let alone a _Fey woman_ like her. Yes, he had once hunted the wolf-blood witch and by Squirrel’s accounts, the two women were very much alike. But Nimue had evaded him at every step, always two counts ahead and it tormented him. He’d let Ari in a little at the cottage, telling himself afterwards that it was nothing more than a trick to keep her on his side. Then after last night everything had changed, the floodgates to his soul had opened and he had let her approach his bruised mind willingly.

They had become something else, _something_ _nameless_. He felt like they were enemies no longer but they were not yet friends. _You don’t have friends_. Lancelot was starting to respect her without question, but trusting her was a different game. He knew that he shouldn’t take any chances with her, for one mention of her name to any Fey and they would do as she commanded, _good or bad_. Some part of Lancelot realised that he would need her, for should they come across any Fey then he would likely be in some trouble, even more so if they were aware who he was and especially if they were armed with weapons. He knew he could beat any Fey soldier easily, but he didn’t want to fight them anymore. _No more_ , he had cried. Ari would be his only defence from an angry mob who wanted him dead. So yes, he _needed_ her on his side. But after yesterday, he was starting to feel like he _wanted_ her on his side too.

They stalked through the woods in search of something to eat, rabbit most likely. _A deer would be good_ , Ari thought. The pair had left Squirrel with Goliath and Dusty, as her horse had finally been named by the boy.

Lancelot was even more quiet than normal, offering nods and shallow noises when they had arranged the plan to hunt after dawn. It wasn’t ideal leaving the boy alone but he was safe within the barn and Ari had showed him where to hide and wait for them if there was trouble.

Ari could feel that Lancelot was distancing himself. A lot had happened the night before, many things had been said. Some things which could not be taken back. She thought that he was embarrassed, he was supposed to be this fearless warrior but she had chipped away at his edges and he had given in to his emotions, crumbling into the snow. Perhaps that’s why he was silent. Then she remembered how he had leant into her, and perhaps her closeness had been too much. Maybe she had gone too far when offering her help, she thought it likely that comfort was something Lancelot’s life had severely lacked in until now. Ari walked slightly ahead of Lancelot, examining the snow for footprints which might lead them towards their breakfast.

“Who taught you to hunt?” Lancelot unexpectedly broke their silence, trying to approach some form of conversation. He felt his hand twitch over his sword, he was not good at small talk.

Ari glanced back at him, “My father. You?” She asked. He turned his face away from her and his silence made her realise her mistake. Ari was innocently asking about hunting for food, forgetting that he had hunted their kind too, as well as that he had just learned of his father figure's demise. She sighed, “Sorry, forget I asked.” They continued to walk on in silence as they were doing before.

“What happened to him?” Lancelot asked after a few minutes. Ari thought that that particular exchange had passed but apparently it hadn’t. She slowed her steps to walk in line with him, frowning until she remembered.

“My father?” Lancelot nodded affirmatively. “I don’t know,” she admitted. Lancelot looked at her with a stoically confused expression, his face had been trained into stillness, never giving much away, yet his heart was changing that. Ari walked for a few steps before continuing, “He disappeared. He went out for a hunt one day and just,” she paused her words, gesturing to the air, “never came back,” she shrugged.

Lancelot’s eyes scanned through the trees as he contemplated, “When?” He asked, keeping their newfound momentum going.

Ari shrugged again, “Ten summers ago, _maybe_. It’s hard to keep count.” Lancelot struggled to comprehend which was worse, having someone walk out of your life _voluntarily_ or have them taken from you _involuntarily_. He remembers being taken from his actual family, but he doesn’t remember the feeling of losing them. He remembers how they disappeared into the distance as he ran but not the looks on their faces as he got further away from them. Lancelot again found himself wanting to ask more, _to understand_.

“What was he like?” He asked, Lancelot did not know his own father. 

Ari was surprised by his question, at his novel comfort with conversation this morning. She thought for a second, “He was proud, gentle, strong. He taught me everything that I know. Well, most things,” she trailed off, chuckling, “my mother did the rest.” She smiled, remembering how her mother would braid her hair and teach her how to make bread, how to distinguish the leaves of the forests and how to weave a basket. Something tugged at Lancelot with the way she had laughed softly, its warmth contrasting the crisp of the air. In this early morning daylight, she was open and free and it made him wonder. Ari felt herself relax, and so continued, “Everyone loved him, _respected_ him. He was a great king. I used to watch him with a sword,” Lancelot saw how she smiled, how her lips curled up and she looked, _happy_ almost. _As if you know what happiness is,_ his mind berated him. “He was so graceful and powerful. It was like he was one with his blade. I could never be as good as him but I tried anyway, my mother wasn’t fond of me fighting.” Lancelot could understand the thought behind that, what mother would want their daughter to grow up into a warrior?

There was a piece of the puzzle missing, “And where is _she_?” Lancelot asked, immediately regretting the question as Ari’s face suddenly changed. Her smile faded and her eyes glazed over. “Oh,” he muttered under his breath, somewhat apologetically as he recognised the meaning behind her shift.

“Yeah,” she pursed her lips, focussing on the snow covered ground.

He looked back and forth to her, watching her golden eyes for her reaction. Lancelot dared to ask, “When?”

Ari took in a deep breath, “A few winters ago. _Sickness_ ,” she explained. Lancelot nodded his understanding, although he had thought that her demise would have been because of something else. Something _he_ most likely could have caused. He would hate to admit it, but he was glad that it was the sickness and not a burning cross. He cast his eyes back to the snow.

Ari glanced across at him, at his markings. She wondered if he knew what they were. Lancelot eyed her warily as he caught her staring.

“Your makings, do you know what they mean?” She asked curiously.

 _It’s those eyes, the mark of the Ash folk_. He thought for a second, but shook his head, he couldn’t remember another face like his. “They are a mark of the Ash folk,” he said, parroting the Green Knight. That’s all he knew, all that Gawain, _the Green Knight_ , had told him. Maybe it was his God damning his face as well as his soul.

Ari pursed her lips to one side, “I should have realised this earlier but it didn’t connect until yesterday.” Lancelot looked at her confusingly, _what didn’t connect?_ Ari began to explain _,_ “They show what powers you have, like how your skin takes on the leaf’s form. It’s a _symbol_ , shows who you are.” She gestured briefly up to his face, “Yours resemble water.” She was blunt, and her words were as obvious as she could make them, they had to be for his sake, he was new to this, to being a Fey. “It’s a particular trait of the Ash folk, I had forgotten my father’s stories,” she finished her words a little dejectedly, feeling the sound of her father’s voice slipping away from her memory.

Lancelot brought his hand to his face and ran his thumb and middle finger down his marks. He had never known why they were there until Ari had told him. He had always hated them, for making him stand out like the demon that he was. He found it sinisterly poetic, how his markings that display the water powers he possesses now stain like the blood of his victims down his face, flowing like rivers of deep red. A constant reminder of all of his faults and failings. Perhaps that was a reason why Carden had chosen him as a boy, because his markings were daunting and symbolic of the Fey blood that he would one day shed. The tears that he would one day cause to fall from the eyes of the _others_.

Ari didn’t think that she would be able to have a comfortable conversation with him, but after last night something had changed. She found herself resenting him a little bit less and growing to maybe like him a little bit more.

“Your marks, on your wrists. What do they mean?” He came back to her. Lancelot had seen them after she had calmed him by the brook, though he hadn’t thought about them since then. Ari’s face shifted, she looked puzzled.

“How do you-”

“I saw them. When I was,” he paused, sighing, “when you helped me at the brook.”

Ari looked down to her covered wrists. She had not felt them ache since yesterday but found a need to rub her palms over where they lay within her skin. “They form a triad,” she said, “they’re passed through the Sunborn line.”

“Why a triad?” He questioned as he moved around a tree.

Ari blinked, she had never needed to explain this to anyone before, “The first Fey, the Sunborns, _there were three_.” Lancelot nodded, remembering her stories. “Their descendants each inherit the mark,” she sighed again, feeling a sort of grief for something that could never be, “I will be the last.”

Lancelot’s eyes came to search her face as she walked between the trees, realising that he too would be the last to bear his marks. She glanced up to him and as they locked eyes it was as if they understood each other. He opened his mouth to say something but snapped his eyes towards the distance. His hand flew out, indicating for her to stop. The fast motion startled her to a halt. She turned to him, his eyes staring intently on the trees ahead. She followed his eye-line.

“Man blood,” he whispered. Ari felt her breath hitch, eyes widening. They both crept forward and crouched at the roots of a pair of trees. Up ahead, two Paladins circled around an old tree, unaware that they were not alone as they relieved themselves. _One each, easy enough,_ Ari thought. Then she remembered just who the other sword belonged to. She looked across to him, studying his face. His eyes were emotionless as he watched the Paladins. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking beneath that grey hood. She waited for him to look at her. When he did, all he was met by was her steely gaze, challenging him, _questioning_ him. He did not trust her yet and she did not trust him, he knew this. But right now, she was going to attack on the lone Paladins whether he joined her or not. As much as she didn’t want to be labelled as a murderer, she could not let them roam freely within Fey territory. The question was, _would he join her?_

He could see the question in her golden eyes, staring him down into the ground as they crouched behind the two trees. Ari quickly glanced to the Paladins, they had not discovered that they weren’t alone yet and were making idle chatter about finding water for horses. When she glanced back to Lancelot his face had not changed, still emotionless and hollow. She sighed silently to herself as she realised that he would not move. She would not force him to kill them, she was not one of the monsters in his tale of woe. But she would not let these reds leave either. She pursed her lips and rose gently onto her feet. She glanced across and saw that the Ash was not doing the same. He was simply staring with intent towards his feet. _Looks like it’s two against one then._

She treaded lightly forward through the trees and the snow, hoping to not catch a twig or stone as she moved. When she was young her mother had taught her how to dance and her father had turned this into a skill used for hunting, and then for the sword. It had always been of great value to her. When she was older, her mother had taught her how to dance their traditional ritual steps, particularly ones for joinings. In her mind, Ari had thought that her mother was preparing her for something, and she was. But the day soon came when her preparation was no longer needed.

She stalked forwards towards the Paladins, stopping behind trees every few paces to recollect herself. An ache in her ankle pestered her but she ignored its warning. She glanced back from the last tree and could not see Lancelot anywhere. Perhaps she had walked so far that she could just simply not see him in the distance, but she doubted this. _Coward_ , Ari thought cruelly. He had stood by and watched countless Fey being slaughtered and not batted an eyelid, but as soon as two of the red murderers were about to become food for the worms, that is where he drew the line? Ari huffed and quietly unsheathed her sword. She removed her dagger from her boot just in case and let it rest over her right hip within her belt.

When the second Paladin moved away, she ran out from behind the tree and brought her sword up to the throat of the first. She stood behind him as he fell forwards and collapsed in the white of the snow. She had just stepped back when the second charged at her, hurling insults between breathy yells. Ari’s eyes widened at the red’s determination. His sword came down and she brought her’s up to meet him. She jumped to the side and he came across to meet her again. She was steady whereas he was erratic. She met him blow for blow as they danced around the bleeding Paladin lying face down in the snow.Ari had a clear opportunity and brought her sword up to strike at his neck but a sharp pain spread within her ankle and she gave way. She cursed as she fell to her knee and automatically wrapped her hand around her ankle. _Perhaps fighting on an injury wasn’t a good idea._ Hindsight is a bitch.

The Paladin swung his sword and Ari leaned back. She didn’t miss his blow, however, as it caught her across her chest. She tried to push up on her ankle and got halfway before the red’s boot landed between her breasts. He kicked her to the ground, her breath leaving her body as she landed in the frozen snow. Her eyes closed when she hit her head and her hand let go of her sword. She felt like she blanked out for a moment as the next thing she felt was tightness around her neck. It choked her, forced her into the ground. Her heart beat quicker and quicker inside of her chest but without air it was pointless. The tightness around her throat only grew larger and she almost saw darkness when the pressure was suddenly taken away.

Ari saw darkness anyway, her head pounding and her eyes feeling like they were spinning around in their sockets. She wanted to be sick. She gasped for air and rolled onto her side and propped herself up with her elbows, coughing up nothing as she inhaled shallowly. The sting of the bleeding cut beneath her collar bone suddenly made itself apparent in her awareness. She pressed her fingers to it, which only made the sting worse. Even in her dizzying state, she could feel that it was only shallow. _Where’s the paladin?_ She twisted in panic to look behind her. She hadn’t killed the scum so where was he? Her eyes struggled to focus as something walked slowly towards her on the ground.

Her instincts told her to reach for her sword, but it wasn’t at her side, so she pulled the dagger from her belt instead, preparing to throw it towards the figure. Her eyes came back to life and she saw that it was not red, but a dark shadow moving towards her. The shadow reached out a hand as it got closer. Ari blinked back and grimaced as the sudden movement of the shadow caused a pain to flush backwards through her skull.

It was Lancelot. His sword hanging by his side was painted with the red of the Paladin. He had planted his sword in the one on top of her and dragged him back and away before finishing him off. Ari took his offered hand and he pulled her up onto her feet. Keeping a hold of her hand he eyed the blood staining her tunic and she followed his eyes looking at her chest. “It’s fine,” she said, looking back up to him. He nodded.

“Where were you?” She squinted her eyes as the ache swirled in her head.

“They don’t usually travel in pairs. There were two more over there,” he lifted his sword over towards where he had found another pair of Paladins. _He had not abandoned me,_ Ari realised _._ She felt a heat under her palm and dropped Lancelot’s hand, forgetting that she was gripping it to keep herself steady. Lancelot eyes her reaction before moving to clean away the blood from his sword and Ari bent down carefully to retrieve hers, wiping it on the red cloak on the ground.

They turned to the dead Paladins on the floor. This was not the first she had killed, nor was it the first for Lancelot. He sighed, taking something out from the inside pocket of his grey tunic. She couldn’t tell what it was until he brought his hand up to remove his hood. He gave the item one last consideration before lifting it over his head and down around his neck, feeling like now could be the right moment to embrace it.

Ari saw it clearly then, as it hung down onto his chest. It was an amulet, one which many Fey are given at birth from the clan elder. Ari’s eyes widened, “Take that off,” she ordered.He looked down to her with narrowing eyes, forehead pinching with his confusion at her pointed tone. “Take it off,” Ari repeated impatiently. She looked as though she was prepared to lunge forward and remove it from him herself, so he did as she commanded, slowly. Ari held out her hand and Lancelot gave it to her.

Ari examined the amulet, the beautifully carved wood in the shape of a leaf bound to leathered black string. Her fingers ran over the veins of the leaf which had been stained blue somehow. It was the same as hers, _different_ , but the same. _He has not earned this_ , she thought, _the right to wear our amulet_. Killing three Paladins just now did not warrant him their symbol. He may be a Fey by blood but he was not one just yet by heart. She looked up to him and something ill-tempered washed over her face.

“How did you get this?”

“Your Druid,” he responded passively, keeping his eyes on her.

Ari opened her mouth to respond just as the Paladins’ horses walk into view in the distance. She brushed past him and went for the horses, hanging the amulet around her own neck casually beside hers, leaving Lancelot without an explanation. They took from the saddle bags what was necessary; some wrapped slices of cured meat, a couple of small squares of cloth, a spare water skin and a thin dagger. They also brought back the two freshly dead rabbits that the reds had managed to catch somehow, for there was no hunting bow in sight. They untacked the horses and threw the saddles and bridles into the snow, leaving the horses to go free. Ari walked on ahead back towards the barn where they had left the boy and the horses. Lancelot took a last glance at the lifeless Paladins before turning to follow her.

~•~

Back at the barn, they cooked the rabbits over the fire for breakfast and sat in an eerie silence as the morning went on. Squirrel could sense that something had changed, _again_. Their back and forth antics were beginning to annoy him.

“Okay, what happened this time?” The boy voiced his question with an exasperated tone. The adults looked at him and narrowed their eyes. “You were fine before you left and now you won’t say a word to each other, what’s wrong with you two?” It was typical that it would be down to the stubborn boy to knock some sense into the adults.

“The rabbits belonged to two Paladins,” Ari said, dodging the underlying theme.

“Belonged?” The boy asked, his eyebrow raised.

“I took one, Lancelot the other,” Ari said, gesturing her dagger between herself and the man.

“Oh,” Squirrel’s face shifted to understanding and then back to confusion, “That doesn’t explain-”

“You hesitated,” Ari interrupted sourly, turning her head to Lancelot. Her knuckles gripped the hilt of her dagger as she rested her elbows forward on her knees. The boy muttered an ‘oops’ under his breath in the background. Ari stared at Lancelot, his hood covering half of his face from her. She was ashamed to say that it annoyed her how he kept on giving her reasons to begin to trust him, but then said or did something to push her trust away.

“Yes,” he responded dryly.

“Why?” Her voice was determined as she twirled the dagger between her fingers. Lancelot waited for a moment, hoping that she would let it go. He noticed the dagger rotating in her hand, suggesting she wouldn’t.

“You ask too many questions,” he eyed her fiercely.

“Maybe, but you will answer this one.” Ari knew the answer but she wanted him to admit it, he could not move forward unless he does.

“They were my family,” albeit a broken one that he never really felt a part of.

“You all but disowned them last night,” she shrugged, recalling his cries to the darkened sky.

His eyes threw daggers at her at the mention of what had happened. She was a brutally honest and unapologetic woman and her words crawled under his skin, reverting them to this back and forth war. He didn’t know how to respond. He resented the Paladins for everything that has ever happened, but they were the only thing that he had, even if it was wrong. Lancelot turned away from her. Ari followed his movement and lent towards him, reminding him that she is a queen, _his queen_.

“When Squirrel is back with his people what will you do? Would you want to go back to them?” She pushed, testing the water. Lancelot’s eyes flicked back to hers, he could so easily get lost in that golden haze if she weren’t so insistent on having this argument. When he didn’t answer it made her think that he wasn’t sure, or, that he knew the answer but she wasn’t going to like it. Lancelot’s face looked conflicted as he tore his eyes away from her to focus on their fire once more, his teeth grinding together. He hid from her eyes within his hood, feeling a headache coming on as his jaws bit together. Ari subconsciously found herself chewing on her bottom lip as she watched him stare into the fire. She sat herself up squarer over her hips, as if the crown which she did not wear had been falling.

“You have to _decide_ , Lancelot,” she said with frustration. His eyes blinked shut slowly, the memories of last night coming back to him. Ari had never known such conflict within her own life, within herself. She could not fathom what it would feel like. She knew it was a difficult thing to ask of him but she had to, she could not make the decision for him. Once again Lancelot held back his tongue.

“Did you think that they would have let you live after their mission was done?” Her head tilted at him. The monk remained silent, eyes firmly shut. How quickly she could change from hot to cold, tender to tough was something he didn’t understand, he knew which version of her he preferred. 

“ _They would have killed you.”_ Her words were sour but necessary. She watched him steadily, his face did not change. If it was news to him then he should have shifted, but he didn’t. Ari pulled back, her voice softer than before, “but, you already knew that, didn’t you?”

With this, Lancelot slowly turned his eyes to her, Ari could see the flames reflecting in them as his face hardened. He breathed in as if he were going to speak, only to let the air back out again and stand up abruptly, moving away and over towards his horse. He knew she was right, he had been a tool to them and nothing more. Carden said that he could not be saved so he knew that when his use was over, he had a feeling in his stomach that he too would be. Carden wanted _all_ of the Fey dead.

Ari watched as he walked away determinately. She spoke louder, ensuring that he would hear her, “For what it’s worth, I don’t think that they would take you back, after what you’ve done, now that they know _what_ _you are_.” Ari saw his jaw tense at her words, she knew she was walking on a very thin line, and started to regret her tone with him as he moved away. Squirrel gave her a look which suggested she had been too harsh on the man. She realised that she had once again let her anger get the better of her and had carelessly abused his vulnerability. Lancelot took Goliath’s reins and glanced at her, watching him. Ari swallowed thickly, she wanted to apologise but Lancelot just scoffed and led Goliath away towards the doors.

~•~

Lancelot was no closer to knowing himself. Before, it was easy. It was black and white. He was a brother, _the Weeping Monk_. He was trained to do one thing and it was simple. He never had to question his mind because it was not his own. Any and all emotions were an unnecessary obstacle for completing God’s will.

And now he is _Lancelot_ , but he doesn’t even know who that man is. _Lancelot_ went away when he was a boy. The Father beat everything that the boy had known of his own kind out of him and started him fresh so that he would blindly follow the church. _And he did_. He never had a reason to doubt them. _Lancelot_ the boy was an ideal of a forgotten past. He doesn’t know how to be Fey anymore. He felt desperate for something to grasp onto. Something to tell him who he was and who he should be. He pushed Goliath forward through the trees and the melting snow. Something in him again told him that he was not alone. He didn’t know what was there but it felt familiar. He halted Goliath and looked through the trees. He could not see anything, but his nerves were tingling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today was a good day so I decided to post another chapter, a long one :D  
> Ari and Lancelot are officially on their new footing, they're a little kinder with each other but there's still angst (which is easing from now on).  
> The next chapter is my favourite one that I have written for this half of the story. Not to scare you, but we're currently on track for around 30 chapters and over 100k words... oops (sorry).


	13. before the dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ari and Lancelot reconcile some of their conflicts and Ari takes a big step into his world.  
> Squirrel discovers a thing or two about Lancelot and the pair grow closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW/ discussion of religious fanaticism/abuse and implied past self harm/flagellation. Nothing is in much detail but I’d put the warning here respectfully anyway.  
> Comments are always greatly appreciated x

[[Moodboard](https://captainbucky-yt.tumblr.com/post/641326066448941056/youre-not-what-i-was-looking-for)]  
  


Whatever was out there had started to make Lancelot anxious. He couldn’t tell if it was human or Fey but the scent was familiar. His head told him to find out but his heart overruled him. He turned Goliath, realising that he shouldn’t have left Ari and Squirrel alone after what had happened in the morning. He cantered Goliath back towards the barn, pausing far enough away to glance around again at the trees. Whatever was there had gone but he still didn’t like what his senses were telling him. Lancelot left Goliath outside and pushed his way back into the barn a little too forcefully.

“You alright?” The boy asked, his eyebrows raised at the man’s restlessness. Lancelot had not hidden the look on his face that something was wrong, and his sudden appearance was a little alarming.

“Something doesn’t feel right,” Lancelot said, pacing back and forth as he kept an eye on the half open door.

The boy cocked his head at him then glanced over to the dying fire, “I thought the rabbits smelt funny-”

“ _That’s not what I meant_ ,” Lancelot snapped at the child, earning a look from the woman. Ari picked up her head, her hand moving to grasp her sword which was laying beside her.

“What is it?” She asked the pacing figure.

“I thought I felt something, _someone_ , watching me in the woods.”

“Could it have just been an animal?” She wondered, for the Monk seemed to be jumping to a conclusion that might not be true. Lancelot stopped and turned to glare at her. _I would know if it were an animal_. Ari sighed, looking over to the boy who didn’t seem overly worried. She turned back to Lancelot, “Okay, well the sun is high now and the snow is melting, we might as well move.” Lancelot nodded, agreeing with her for once.

Ari tacked up Dusty and gave Squirrel her dagger, telling him to cut the blanket they had found in half whilst Lancelot kept watch outside. She rolled up and tied one half of the blanket to the back of her saddle with rope before leading her horse towards the dying fire. She kicked at the remaining embers and made sure that it was fully put out before ushering the boy outside. Squirrel gave the other rolled half of the blanked to Lancelot with a length of rope for him to repeat what Ari had done. They quickly got themselves and the horses up the slope and out of the valley and onto the trail which they had ridden on yesterday. They mounted the horses, Squirrel riding with Ari as usual, and circled east along the trail for another day’s ride.

~•~

They rode in an awkward silence, for the tension between Ari and Lancelot was heightened after their argument in the morning. Lancelot found time to let himself think about what she had said. _Would you want to go back to them?_ The question turned over and over in his mind as they walked along, and he decided that there was a simple answer. Ari had once again found a way to see right through his facade. He could never go back to them, he didn’t want to. He had a taste of freedom finally and he wanted to taste more, but he didn’t know how. The church was structured, there were rules and an order that seemed to have been lost in his life now. He hoped that Ari might show him how to be Fey, but he once again found himself feeling that he didn’t deserve it.   
  
The layer of fresh snow melted on the ground and Lancelot watched as it washed away the dirt. He thought about how he could start again new. Like the snow that whitened the trees and the field, he could blank his own canvas and start over. But the world would not make it easy for him, and he wouldn’t make it easy for himself either. He had made too many mistakes to be granted a clean slate. 

They cantered out of the denser forest, circling to begin their route south through the late morning and into the afternoon, winding around trees and unmarked paths through the woods and out into the clear hillsides. They stopped by a shallow river for a short time, its water had not frozen over yet so the horses were able to have their fill. Ari bent to refill their skins with the water as best as she could, bringing some of it up in her hands to splash at her face. She had always loved how the chill of cold, crisp water made her feel alive, how it awakened her senses like no other feeling.

Lancelot glanced across at her by the river more than once. The bruise he had given her two weeks ago had begun to fade and was barely noticeable now, _but he knew it was there._ The injuries Lancelot himself had gained from his encounter with the trinity guard had too practically healed and the new forming scars were beginning to itch under his shirt. His face almost looked normal and his ribs no longer twinged beneath his clothes when he moved.

He shifted his weight as he leant against a tree, the feeling of her asleep behind him last night creeping into his mind. He was surprised that he wasn’t uneased by it, how they slept beside one another like it were normal, their backs facing each other as they drifted away. He knew with confidence that it was a new experience for him, but he could not say the same for definite about her. He shook his head to remove the thought, he should not think of the queen that way.

Lancelot had not known if she had woken to the sound of him getting up rather abruptly in the middle of the night. If he had disturbed her, he did not know it. In his dreams he saw a figure, a shadow of a man. It resembled him in his stature, tall and lean and covered with a cloak but it was not him. Lancelot had suffered with this dream for years, unable to recall when it had first found him. It taunted him, hunted him, was always present wherever he went. Lancelot didn’t know what it meant, _the shadow that followed him_. He had not spoke of the dream to anybody, not even Father Carden. It frustrated him that he couldn’t fit the pieces together, it felt like they should be obvious but they weren’t. He was right on the edge of figuring it out but still so far. Perhaps it was not a dream, but actually a nightmare.

“Ready to go?” Ari’s voice cut through the air unexpectedly and caught his attention, he had gotten lost in his thoughts and had not noticed her getting closer. She had called his name a couple of times but the far away expression on his face suggested that he did not hear her. She approached towards where Lancelot was leant against a tree with both horse’s reins in her hands. Her golden eyes looked at him carefully, wondering where his mind had wandered off to.

“Yeah,” his cracked voice trailed off as he shifted on his feet and stepped forward to take Goliath’s reins. Ari turned and called Squirrel back to them from where he was stood throwing sticks into the river, watching them race against each other with the current.

~•~

“Can we _please_ stop and eat something soon?” Squirrel moaned from in front of Ari, squirming as she poked at his side.

“You cannot be hungry yet, surely?” Ari teased him.

“It’s been hours,” the boy dragged out his words, huffing as he absentmindedly played with a lock of Dusty’s dark mane. His overly childlike tone provoked a small laugh from Ari. She looked over to Lancelot on the trail beside her, not knowing why exactly she did so. Lancelot saw how she glanced at him and shrugged as a response. She had made it clear before that their movements were her choice, and he was getting a little hungry too.

Ari turned back to the boy and poked at his side again. “We will stop soon,” she promised.

They had walked on for perhaps another hour when a breeze through the hills and trees carried the smell of burnt wood and ashes into the trail they were following. Ari immediately recognised the smell and pulled the horse to a halt. Her eyes were blown wide in a panic as she turned her head to Lancelot, fearing the worst. Her knuckles gripped tighter around the reins.

Lancelot saw her anxiousness but he had recognised the terrain, knowing where they were. “It’s Yvoire,” he said to calm her nerves.

Her head turned further towards him, “The Abbey?” She asked with knitted brows. Ari had heard of Yvoire Abbey and of the women who lived there. She had even ridden past it on occasion as she journeyed to other Fey camps, but always at a distance. Close enough to _see_ but far away enough to not _be seen_. Lancelot nodded and a sense of relief washed over her. With a pull on Dusty’s rein, the horse turned and began towards the scent of Ash.

“What are you doing?” Lancelot hissed at the trio.

Ari glanced over her shoulder at the man, “Having a look,” she responded. Lancelot thought he saw something playful in her expression but maybe he was just imagining it. He knew that the Fey were far more free with their actions and emotions compared to most humans he’d interacted with, and certainly more than _he_ had been with the Paladins.

Ari let her body sway with the horse as they wound through the hills towards the edge of an opening. The once impressive abbey now stood mostly in burnt ruins before her. When Lancelot caught up to them, she asked him, “What happened here?” Assuming he would know.

He looked at her plainly, “it burned down.”

Ari’s mouth parted and she was about to chide him for thinking her dumb when she caught onto his sarcasm. She pursed her lips, offering an unamused smirk at him.

“I’m not sure,” Lancelot said with a bit more life in his voice than before. He returned his gaze to look at the ruins, “Some of the men said it was one of the sisters. Others told a different story.”

“What do you believe?” She arched a brow.

Lancelot sighed, “I don’t know.”

Squirrel chose to contribute to the conversation then, “It looks empty.”

Ari glanced to Lancelot, who nodded shallowly. His senses could not find any living humans or Fey. Ari motioned her horse forwards into the open.

“What are you doing?” Lancelot hissed at her again.

“ _Looking,_ ” she hissed back. “You don’t have to come, you can wait here.” She gestured to the ground. He knew her words were a trap, he would not let them walk in there alone.

~•~

They tied the horses in a small stable block that had survived at the rear of the Abbey just in time for them all to get out of the snow that had started to fall. Ari marvelled at the building as she walked through the stone hallways, even in its ruined form it was still a sight to behold. She had never been inside of such a building. Hidden knows that she hated the church for all that they had done, but at least they had good taste in architecture. The place was thoroughly deserted, and Squirrel decided to wander off on his own. “Don’t go far!” Ari shouted to the boy who ignored her and waddled away to try and salvage some food.

Lancelot could not fathom why the pair would want to be here, a place where so many who hated their kind had gathered, including his brothers. Lancelot followed behind Ari at a distance as she explored. He knew the walkways like the back of his hand so did not care to observe the stone walls and high beams as she was doing. One room caught her eye as she walked past the doorway. She stopped and went back to it. Her fingers pulled her cloak around her thin but not fragile frame, feeling the chill as she stepped inside. The heels of her boots tapped along the stone floor as she glanced around at the vast space. It was the only room she had walked by that seemed to have not been damaged much by the fire. She stepped further in, eyeing the rows of burned benches pointing towards the far end.

“This was a chapel,” Lancelot said in a hushed tone from the doorway. She turned around and looked to him, having not heard him enter after her. He realised from her look that she did not know what he had meant. “A place for prayer,” he explained quietly, still stood within the doorway, hands clasped behind his back. He had prayed many times within this very chapel, one more commonly used only by the brothers when they were here. A simpler, less ornate space was reserved for the sisters of the abbey. Ari’s head motioned her understanding and she turned to glance up at the ceiling, to the Fey this would have been called a temple.

She was intrigued, the light marble was decorative but simple and yet ornate at the same time, bouncing the light around the room with ease. The Fey did not have such luxuries like this to pray beneath, their temples were built sturdily into the woodlands and the river lands. It seemed, _peaceful_. A contradiction to the red menaces she had known to pray within these walls. As her eyes travelled down she noticed something on the wall at the far end. She walked towards it, examining its lines and structure as she slowly got closer. Lancelot had recognised what she was looking at, and it made him anxious, the mark of the Paladin at the back of his head itched beneath his hood.

“So, _this_ is what you fought for,” the Fey queen’s voice echoed gently around the room. She was not angry or indignant but merely curious.

Lancelot swallowed the lump in his throat, taking a breath before he replied, “yes.”

Her hand reached out from beneath her cloak but she stopped herself midway, turning her face towards him as if to ask for permission. She wanted him to know that she would not disrespect his beliefs, even if they were wavering. She did not agree with them, but she respected _him_. He did not seem to object, so she let her hand continue to rest upon the golden cross hanging from the wall. 

Openness was one thing that Ari had always tried to value. Her mother had instilled in her that truth and honesty were the greatest foundations for all relationships. As she touched the cross now, she found herself wanting to learn, if nothing but out of respect for him. To understand him better she would have to enter his world, no matter how it may conflict her.

Lancelot watched her as she reached for the cross. Seeing how delicate she was being took him by surprise. Ari ran her fingers down the polished golden surface. She kept her voice low out of respect, “I have seen this many times but,” she paused, shaking her head in a confused manner, “what does it mean?” She turned her head over her shoulder face to him. She had indeed seen the cross many times before, but never had it been explained in a way which didn’t tarnish its meaning.

Lancelot took a step forward from the doorway, hesitating for a second to speak. The way that she looked at him with pure curiosity and maybe even kindness calmed him unexpectedly. He chose his words carefully, clasping his hands behind him.

“The Lord died on a cross to save our souls.”

Ari nodded slowly and brought her eyes back to where her fingers rested. “So it is like a tribute?” She asked, letting her hand drop away to wrap herself back into her cloak.

“Of sorts,” he responded with a tilt of the head, moving closer. He did not know how else to explain it. Ari remembered the time when she had seen him without his cloak. She was cautious, trying not to press to hard on a exposed nerve. 

“The mark on your head?” She said lowly without fully asking a question. Lancelot realised then that she had connected the dots between the two symbols.

“For loyalty and obedience.” He regretted the phrasing that was drilled into his mind. His branded scar could not be undone even if he _had_ broken away from his faith. Fortunately though, his longer hair could cover it up if need be and the hood was even more useful than his locks at hiding it. Lancelot’s feet finally brought him to stand beside her in front of the cross.

“I take it you didn’t choose to have it done?” She arched her eyebrow, turning her face slightly to view him. Lancelot shook his head. “You’re lucky a hood suits you then,” she teased softly, catching how he smirked briefly from beneath said hood. Lancelot felt himself opening up a little more, relaxed by her attempt at a joke, or was it a compliment? They let the silence hang comfortably as the falling snow tapped at the glass windows and the air shifted between them.

“I should have thanked you earlier,” Ari spoke up softly after a few moments, “for pulling the Paladin off of me,” _for saving me_ is what she had meant to have said but she held those words back, she knew how close she had been to running out of air today. Lancelot felt guilty, he should not be being thanked for saving her life when there were so many of her kind, _his kind_ , that he had taken from this world. He pursed his lips and gave her a weak acknowledging nod.

Ari could see that something was troubling him so she turned her eyes away, craning her neck to glance around at the windows and figures carved out of the walls. “It’s not what I was expecting,” she said.

Lancelot half smiled, “did you think it would have weapons and bodies coming down from the ceiling?” His twisted sense of humour returned an attempted joke, but the look on Ari’s face as she turned back to him sharply said that she did not find it funny and that he had clearly missed the mark. So he swallowed and bit back his tongue, realising his miscalculation.

Lancelot looked down at his boots, voice thick when he said, “You say that we hated you, but,” he stumbled on his words, lowering his voice to a place deep within him, “the Fey hate the church too.”

Ari was struck by his ignorance, but held herself and her temper back for he was still learning how to talk about these things, and she was learning that arguing with him got them nowhere. Since he was actually talking with her about this calmly, she decided to roll with it.

“For different reasons, I suspect.” Her voice sounded like the queen that she was. She wasn’t pretentious or arrogant, and it was easy to see why her courteous nature was accepted as queen by the Fey, even if she _had_ been a little short with him earlier. Lancelot’s eyes lifted slightly but they did not meet her.

Ari took a step closer to him, taking her time, “How much did they teach you, about us? _Actually_ about us?” Now that she asked, Lancelot did not know an answer, he frowned. He was taught not to question what Carden said about the Fey, _the others_. And he never did for it earned him new scars.

“They said we are demon born,” his eyes continued to look to the ground, hands gripping together tighter behind him. _Even his own God did not want him_. 

Ari noticed how he aligned himself with her people, _we are demon born_ , he had said. She felt her barrier around her emotions breaking away, being told that he was a demon over and over must have surely left a terrible mark on his soul that she herself would not want to bear, but that didn’t mean that he should bear it alone.

“And that was it?” She asked, her voice soft, “that was all you needed?”

Lancelot’s head tilted and he shied his face away into his hood, but he somehow did not feel like she was judging him. Ari’s heart broke a little for him. She almost felt her eyes welling up, letting out in a whisper, “this is what I’ve been trying to get you to see, to realise, _Lancelot_. That this life, it wasn’t-” she faltered, forgetting how to speak and not being able to find the right word. It wasn’t _safe_ , it wasn’t _fair_ , it wasn’t _kind_. It was toxic and controlling and damaging in so many ways. She didn’t know why she was getting so emotional over his past, her breath shook and Lancelot’s heart pulled him to look at her for a reason he did not understand. She faced him fully, her eyes shining as she let the guard down around her cage. Ari’s breath shook again and Lancelot wanted to reach out to her instinctively, his stomach tying in knots at her empathy. But he was afraid to, scared to cross a line they had been tugging back and forth around, a line with which side he didn’t know he stood on. He let his body relax, hard edges turning soft as his voice reflected hers.

Lancelot lowered his face to look at her, “I know that now, and I will not forget it.” He looked into her eyes earnestly, it was a promise. His people had caused her this pain and it sickened him now as he became more and more aware of it.

Ari nodded shallowly, feeling a tear escape she looked away from his eyes to her feet. She was relieved to hear him say that, it was another step in the right direction for him, for them, for the Fey. Her eyes closed tightly to stop more tears from falling. Lancelot’s palm twitched and he went to reach for her, his hand had almost moved away from his side when the moment was broken by Squirrel from the doorway.

“What did you do?” The boy said angrily, eyeing Lancelot as he suddenly felt protective over the teary woman. Lancelot’s hand retreated to his side and he stepped back, backing away from Ari as Percival stormed over to them like an angry bull.

“What did you do?” The boy repeated, breaking the reverence which had been in the air before. 

Ari turned away from Squirrel and swatted at her face, putting the guard back up again, “nothing, Squirrel. _He did nothing_.”

“Then why are you crying?” Squirrel stood between them, acting as a barrier between the two adults.

Ari sighed, “Even queens cry sometimes Squirrel,” she said simply as she reached out to pull him towards her.

“Hmm,” the boy mused as he kept his eyes trained on Lancelot. “ _Fine_ ,” he huffed, turning his face up to Ari, “but you tell me if he does make you cry and I’ll deal with him.” The child said boldly, earning a teary chuckle from Ari.

“Okay,” she agreed with a smile. The boy seemed to calm down and turned to Lancelot with a much happier expression than he had done before.

“I found food in the kitchen!” He chirped up, squirming out of Ari’s embrace and running back towards the door as if the food would have disappeared before he got there.

Ari glanced up to Lancelot who was already watching her apologetically. Their dynamic already felt like it was a million leagues away from what it was a few hours prior, a new kind of kindness and silent understanding. She gave him a weak and still slightly teary smile and gestured her head for him to follow.

~•~

They followed the boy as he trotted eagerly towards the kitchen. It was half in ruins and half preserved. The boy headed to where he had found food earlier and Ari glanced around for anything that could be useful. She picked up three metal plates from out of a pile which had presumably once been stacked neatly within the cupboard which had burnt down, as well as a couple of spoons. There was a sink basin in the corner of the kitchen and she went to see if it could provide any water to wash off the items with. She gave the water pump a couple of goes and it let out enough water to rinse off the plates and spoons.

Squirrel came running back to her followed by Lancelot. The boy’s nose had led him to some cheeses, vegetables, some slightly sour bread and even more slightly off meat from a stonewalled pantry just off of the kitchen.

“Maybe leave the meat?” Ari suggested as her nose turned up at the smell.

“Told you,” Lancelot said under his breath. Squirrel pulled a face at him as he huffed and discarded the wrapped meat into a pile of debris on the floor. 

“We have _edible_ meat in the saddlebags Squirrel.” Ari reassured him and he looked a little happier.

Lancelot started to head for the doorway, “I know a place where we can rest.” Squirrel trotted on at his heels. As she followed them out, Ari noticed a relatively clean pot which she had not seen earlier and picked it up on the way.

Lancelot knew of a place where they could stay, a set of rooms at the far back end of the abbey which likely would not have been damaged by the fires as it was somewhat disconnected from the rest of the building. With multiple exit routes if they needed to, it was a decent choice. The rooms were used to house the sisters and so were right at the back of the abbey. The older rooms were larger and used for the sisters of higher orders. Lancelot opened a few of the doors before finding one that had not been damaged. He held the door open and let Ari decide wether it was okay or not, but Squirrel made the decision first, running in and jumping onto one of the feather beds.

Ari chuckled quietly at the boy as she stepped in with the pot and plates, spoons and food in her hands. She walked over to the stone fireplace and put them down. She began to unwrap the items of food as she crouched on the floor when Lancelot spoke up from a few paces just inside of the door. 

“There is a washroom nearby,” he said casually, remembering the layout of the ruins. 

“You think I need to wash?” She arched her eyebrow at him playfully. Lancelot’s head spun on his shoulders and his terrified face prompted a chuckle from her lips. He frowned, not understanding why she had laughed. Her question had made him think that he had offended her. “I am joking,” she chuckled, rising to her feet. Lancelot pressed his lips together, her making jokes was new and becoming a habit, but he found himself growing fonder of the sound of her stifled laughter.

“You should go anyway, you have not cleaned your cut.” He said seriously, tilting his head towards her chest and glancing briefly at her wound which he could see through the torn fabric of her shirt.

Ari looked down to where the blood had dried on her shirt, he was right. It was only shallow but she still needed to clean where the Paladin’s sword had cut her. She picked her head back up and nodded.

“I’ll check on the horses,” he said stiffly, turning on his heels to leave the room.

“Bring back the meat!” Squirrel shouted over at him as he was almost out of the door. Lancelot rolled his eyes, the boy was always thinking of food. “Washroom is on the left,” he called back to Ari and gestured down the hallway.

“Thanks,” she said to acknowledge him as he walked away.

~•~

Ari glanced at the boy who was now watching the snow fall out of the window. She picked up the pot of water, taking it with her in hopes of being able to get enough water to fill it from the washroom. With the items Squirrel had found, there was enough to make a stew of some kind, or at least boil the vegetables for something warm to eat.

She opened a couple of doors before finding the room Lancelot had spoken of. It was mildly covered in ash and dust but it would do for what she needed. She set the pot down by a basin and took off her cloak, resting it over a wooden rack which stood at the end of the room beneath a window. She felt the chill in the air as she removed the warm layer.

Ari came back to the basin and lifted the metal pot under the tap. She tried the water pump but it was practically frozen solid. She ran a hand down her face then undid the leathers around her wrists and palms, placing them with her cloak before coming back to the basin, her hands hovering around the pipes. She had told Lancelot that she did not like to use her fire powers, and with good reason, but they needed water. Ari let the heat from the flames she produced warm the pipes gently, coaxing the ice to thaw. It took a few minutes but soon enough she was able to fill the pot enough and then the basin.

Her fingers came to take off the jacket which she wore and her leather bodice, and then began to undo the laces of her shirt. She pushed the widened collar down over her shoulders, exposing her skin to the cold which radiated off of the stone walls. In hindsight, she should have thought to bring a cloth with her, and ended up poking at the cut with her fingertips instead. The water stung, but she did not care, she’d experienced worse pain than this.

Her hand came away from beneath her collarbone as she went to wash off the last bit of the blood from her hands but she stopped herself. She stared at the blood on her fingertips, it was hers but it might as well have been the blood of her people. Then for the first time in a long time she caught her reflection in the mirrored glass. She almost didn’t recognise what she saw. The metaphorical blood on her hands did not scare her, and that thought in itself was terrifying. Her still reddened hand dropped down away to her side. The two amulets dangled from her neck, entwined together as the strings wrapped around each other. The heart within her chest started to ache and beat quicker as her reflection stared back at her. She thought of those she had lost a few days ago, those who she had called family. Her hands moved and clenched around the sides of the basin. It did not feel right that she should be here and they were not. They were _her_ responsibility, and she had let them down. _You cannot save everyone, Ari_. And now she was within these walls, the walls which protected those who allied with her enemy.All of the air shook out of Ari’s lungs, she could not tare her eyes away from where they reflected back at her. In this moment, she hated herself for leaving, her anger and frustration seethed and rattled her bones. She willed her tears to stay back but they would not listen to her.

A knock at the door startled her and she pushed herself back from the basin, stumbling into a drying rack which she had forgotten was behind her.

“Ari?” A raspy voice called from the hallway.

“I’m fine,” she called back, picking up the fallen rack and putting it back onto its feet.

“Really?” The voice spoke again a little sarcastically, she could practically feel the suspicious look he was likely giving from the other side of the door.

“Yes,” she huffed. She reached down and grabbed the pot of water and carried it over to the entrance. She unlatched the door and swung it open.

“Here,” she said sternly, pushing the pot out towards Lancelot who was stood anxiously outside. Some of the water sloshed and landed at their feet as he caught the pot that she was all but throwing at him. She seemed flustered and dazed. _Has she been crying?_

“Boil this over the fire,” she commanded quickly. She had not looked at his face yet but when she did, she saw that his eyes were locked tightly onto hers, and his cheeks were flushed a gentle pink. She raised her eyebrows at him, _what?_  
  
Lancelot’s throat bobbed up and down involuntarily as he clasped his hands around the pot. Ari opened her mouth to ask what was wrong with him but then she remembered her state, half dressed with her shoulders exposed as her shirt unlaced down the crook of her chest. Her eyes widened and looked down at herself quickly before coming back up to his reddening face. Her throat made a noise and she swiftly stepped back, pushing the door shut in his face.

Lancelot blinked and stepped back into the middle of the hall, the scent of her lingering in his senses. He does not know how long he was stood there staring at the door, but it was definitely too long. He shook his head and turned on his heels, walking away back towards the room they were sharing.

When Ari came back to the room, Lancelot was pleased to find that she was fully dressed but could not quite meet her eyes. He had latched the handle of the pot to a hook which hung in the fireplace and had successfully began to boil the water. He was sat on a wooden chest beside one of the beds and was carefully slicing the vegetables and meat he’d brought back from the saddlebags with his knife. Cooking was not something he was particularly good at, he only knew how to make the most basic of things that he would need to survive. Squirrel tried to distract him on several occasions in order to slyly steal some of the raw slices, but Lancelot caught the boy every time. 

Ari glanced at the man’s progress and saw that he was almost done, so she waited on the floor by the fire for him to finish, letting the warmth heat up her toes through her boots. She looked down to double check where she had sewn up the tear in her shirt with some thread that she had found in the washroom. Luckily for Lancelot’s sake, her stitches had held.

When all was chopped, Lancelot stood and walked with the plate of vegetables and meat over to Ari by the fire. She used the edges of her cloak to wrap around the handle of the pot to take it off of the heat. Lancelot brushed the food into the boiling water gently with his knife, trying not to splash any of it onto her. When the plate was empty, Ari lifted the handle of the pot back onto the hook and took her place back on the floor.

~•~

Squirrel had found a book in the chest at the end of his bed as he waited impatiently for his supper, and was now studying it intently. He twisted and turned it as he tried to decipher the markings on the pages.

“You’re holding it upside down,” Lancelot told him from where he was sat on the edge of the first bed comfortably, looking up at the boy.

Squirrel’s head picked up to turn to Lancelot quickly, “You can read?” The child gaped at the man.

Lancelot frowned, he thought that most people could read. He watched the boy as his own mouth fell open, “yes.”

“Wow,” Squirrel awed at him. Then the boy got up off of his bed, rushing over to Lancelot and jumped up onto his bed next to him. The action seemed to confuse Lancelot, no child had ever ran to him willingly. Ari noticed how the man’s face changed, then softened. Squirrel crossed his legs and leant towards Lancelot, shoving the book over into his lap.

“What does this say?” He asked excitedly as he pointed at a random word on the page.

Lancelot looked to where the boy’s tiny finger was pointing, “ _Filium_ ,” he said plainly. Squirrel looked at him, face contorting into confusion. Ari tried not to laugh.

“That’s not our language,” the boy’s lips quirked as he studied Lancelot’s face.

Lancelot’s brows raised, “it’s Latin,” he deadpanned.

“You can read Latin?” Squirrel gawked even more than before. Lancelot did not think that the boy’s eyes could get any wider. “What does it mean?” Squirrel asked before Lancelot had even gotten a chance to reply to his first question.

“It means _Son_ ,” he said.

Squirrel turned the pages in Lancelot’s hands and pointed to another word, asking again what it meant. Lancelot told him. The boy flicked through the pages again, repeating his question. After a few turns of this Lancelot saw that it was going to get very tedious very quickly, so resigned to reading him something instead.

“Percival,” Lancelot put his hand over the book, stopping the boy’s hands from moving once more, “why don’t I just read you something?” He asked with a gentle sigh down to the child who nodded eagerly. The boy didn’t seem to mind that it was the Holy book, the bored child just wanted something to do. Out of the corner of his eye Lancelot saw Ari shift and look up to him sceptically from the fire. Her face was hard as she watched them. Lancelot lifted his eyes to her, gauging her opinion. Speaking softly he said, “it’s just a story.”

Lancelot watched her as she glanced between him, the book, and the boy. When she met his eyes again she waited, then nodded, giving him her permission. Lancelot’s lips twitched at the corner briefly before he turned his head back to the boy.

He flicked through the pages and found something suitable to translate whilst they waited for their supper. Squirrel made himself comfortable next to Lancelot, and as the story went on, he fell further and further into the man’s side, and Lancelot let him. The memory of Carden teaching him the scriptures came forward unexpectedly, prompting a lump to form in Lancelot’s throat. He tried to push it aside as he read. He was nothing like Carden, and he would never hurt the boy the way that he had been hurt.

~•~

Ari had gotten the boy settled on the bed furthest from the door and watched as he drifted off to sleep easily. It surprised Lancelot how someone so young, who had been through so much, could sleep peacefully like this in his company.

“Did all of those animals really fit onto one boat?” Ari asked lowly to not wake up Squirrel from where she sat cross legged on the middle bed.

Lancelot’s eyes opened and his head picked up from where he was bent over onto his knees, prepared to move if anything approached. He noticed how casual she was being, how comfortable they had become in a matter of hours. Lancelot shook his head with a slight curve of his lips, “it’s just a story.” One in particular that he had always doubted for the reason she had asked about exactly. 

“One you believe?” She asked him. 

Lancelot had no definite answer, so cocked his head awkwardly to gesture his indifference. Ari pursed her lips, she too occasionally doubted some of the stories that had been passed down to her. They fell back into a silence as they watched over the fire. The wound across her chest ached a little and she remembered the similar but much worse wounds that he was carrying. She had not yet asked him if he was still hurting.

She turned her eyes to Lancelot, “How is your back doing?” Ari saw him tense at her question.

“Its fine,” he said, pressing his hands together in his lap. Ari nodded, her teeth grazing over her bottom lip. She didn’t believe him but she also didn’t want to push too far. Her eyes came back to her own lap.

“I don’t know how he could do that to you,” she said beneath her breath, lifting her face away towards the fire. The lump which had gathered rose further in Lancelot’s throat, uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was headed.He swallowed thickly.

“He didn’t,” he responded quietly, focussing on the wooden floor between his feet.

Ari looked on to the fire for a moment or two, until she realised just what he had meant. Her head turned slowly towards him, her mind raking through all of the reasons why he might do such a thing. Sympathy was plastered all over her face but he would not look at her, head buried beneath the safety of his hood as he bent over the edge of the bed, feeling her eyes on him. The fire cracked in the corner, the sound reminding him of just how he had gotten his scars, and he tensed again. The silence was killing him so he looked up to her and their eyes locked, sharing an understanding. _He did not want to speak of it_.

Ari broke their contact as she moved to make herself more comfortable on the bed, sitting back further towards the pillow. As she twisted to remove her cloak, the string around her neck caught Lancelot’s eye. She had taken the amulet from him and he did not know why.

“About yesterday, and, this morning,” she said quietly, catching him off guard. He looked up to her eyes quickly as she rolled up her cloak. He wasn’t used to being startled this much by words yet she always found a way. Her eyes turned to him slowly.

“I was frustrated, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I apologise,” she said earnestly, her eyes watching for his reaction. They had fought in the morning about him, about his hesitation towards fighting the Paladins in the woods. She had told him to decide what he was wanting to be and as she thought back now, her words were more than harsh. She was aware of her errors and she could never take them back, she could only hope that he might forgive her for them.

Lancelot’s eyes flashed away but came back to her face, he knew that her frustration with him was the least that he deserved, “you had every right to.” He said, glancing down at his feet.

Ari shook her head strongly, “That’s not an excuse. I should have approached things differently. _I hurt you,_ ” Lancelot’s eyes flicked to hers again, her honesty bare and exposed before him.

“I wasn’t thinking. _I’m sorry._ ” She lowered her face forward, emphasising her words. It was perhaps the kindest thing that anyone had said to him in a long time.

If it had been a month ago, Ari would never have expected to be apologising for hurting _the Weeping Monk_ , but her words had seeped into wounds which were already open in him like alcohol to a cut, and she was ashamed of her lack of awareness in those moments of frustration. That’s not who she was, that’s not who she wanted to be.

Lancelot’s mouth parted, he did not understand her. She didn’t need to apologise to him, nobody had ever apologised for hurting him.

He exhaled slowly, “You told me what I needed to hear. And you were right.” Ari could see he was on the edge of saying something else but his mind was fumbling over the words. She gave him space to find them.

Lancelot appreciated her patience with him but he could not understand the warmth that she was showing him now. The Green Knight had done the same, calling him brother even after Lancelot had committed the Fey to his death. The knight was the one who had started in motion the final cascade of doubt about who Lancelot truly was within his mind.

“I don’t want to be a Paladin,” he said earnestly to answer her question from the morning, “I made that decision the night I left them with Percival.” It was the first decision he had made for himself in years, and he believed that it was indeed the right one.

Ari wasn’t quite sure what to say. Her lips turned up a little, her voice was soft, “that’s good to hear.”

Lancelot felt something shift as the corner of his own mouth twitched. He looked away to divert his attention, feeling her eyes making a mark on his soul.

He swallowed thickly, almost too afraid to ask, “Are all Fey, brothers?” He whispered towards the fire.

“Yes,” she breathed out softly, recognising his phrasing as something which the Green Knight had believed in. She too had sited those words at Lancelot’s trial.

“Even the lost ones?” His weeping eyes turned enough and he looked deeply into hers.

Ari nodded, “Even the lost ones.” As she echoed his words, Ari felt like Lancelot was on the verge of something, a revelation of sorts.

Lancelot sat a little further onto the edge of the bed, speaking slowly, confidently. “I wish to reclaim who I once was. _If you will allow it_.” He looked up at her a few feet across from him, lips parted as he waited nervously for an answer.

Ari looked at him, her eyes soft and kind, realising what he was asking of her. Her chest rose as she sat up straighter, uncrossing her legs. Her fingers reached for the strings around her neck.

“Born in the dawn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Lancelot has accepted that he’s Fey, he’s admitted that he doesn’t want to be a Paladin, so things are looking up, right?  
> This is the longest chapter and also my favourite so far. This chapter is 100% a turning point in both Lance’s and Ari’s opinions of each other. I decided really early in writing this fic to use Yvoire as the catalyst for them to work through things, I feel it was really important that Ari literally stepped into his world.


	14. in dawn's daylight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lancelot grows protective over one of his companions and Squirrel makes an interesting discovery. Ari tries to shake away an unexpected feeling, but finds herself failing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW// canon-typical violence.  
> Comments are always appreciated greatly x

[[Moodboard](https://captainbucky-yt.tumblr.com/post/641682309066686464/youre-not-what-i-was-looking-for-weeping-monk)]

When Lancelot woke up, he felt different. Like something within him had shifted or untwisted, a _good_ kind of different. He no longer felt so uncomfortable. The amulet around his neck made him feel more like _him_ , and not so much like the empty shell of the grey monk.

~•~

“Born in the dawn,” she had begun.

“To pass in the twilight,” He had replied.

Lancelot was sincere when he responded to the greeting. He knew it was important to the Fey, something sacred which they valued dearly. And so if he were to embrace who he truly was, he should start by honouring those words.

The floorboards creaked as Ari stood and stepped to the bed where Lancelot was sitting over the edge. He watched her as she walked, how her eyes did not meet his until she was in front of him, standing before him at his knees. The string of the amulet was held wide between her hands. He looked down to it and then back up to her quickly, realising what she was wanting to do. He slowly brought his hand up and pulled his hood away, letting it fall back against his shoulders. Ari felt her heart beat quicker as the man revealed himself to her, she felt the heat crawl up her neck under his gaze. Her eyes did not part with his as he looked up at her.

Under the glow of the firelight she could see him fully. The curls around his temples, the strength of his features contradicted by the softness of the blue within his weeping eyes. The pull from within her chest to him in that moment scared her and she fought to push it back, bringing her hands up as they held the string open. She stepped forward slightly between his legs and Lancelot, not knowing quite what to do, dipped his head to make it easier for her. She began to slip the string over his head, hesitating when she saw the cross that scarred there. _I wish to reclaim who I once was, if you will allow it,_ he had said. She thought of what her Father, the Fey king, would have done if he were here instead of her. Then she brought the string down over his head for the amulet to rest where it belonged.

Lancelot’s skin burned where her fingertips brushed against his neck. His eyes drifted closed and for the first time, he felt _accepted_. He was not a Fey yet, the amulet did not make him one, but it held the door open for him to try. It would be difficult, but with her help he might get there. His neck straightened so he could see her face. She glanced down between the carved leaf around his chest and his eyes, then she smiled. It was small yet strong and sent a shiver down his spine. He felt like there was something missing when she turned away and went back to her bed, he didn’t know what it was. Lancelot slept well that night, not haunted by the demons or ghosts of his past.

~•~

Ari found him outside in the morning, but she almost did not recognise the figure outside the stables as Lancelot from where she stood in the open archway. He looked, _different,_ like a new version of himself. He was stood a little taller than he had been the day before. His hood was down so she could see his head, long dark curling locks hanging loose with wisps of lighter strands blending in between. He turned presumably at the scent of her approaching and his appearance startled her further. He had shaven somehow, carved away at the new growth along his neck until just the hair above his lip and on his chin remained with a little stubble along his jawline. It was shorter than she remembered it being yesterday.

Her eyes wandered over his features. She saw him in a new light, _literally_. The shine of the fresh white snow reflected and bounced off of his face, highlighting him just right and making him look younger, as if he was not aged and weathered by his years as a weapon. Ari saw that beneath it all, he was indeed a handsome man. Dangerous, but handsome. Lancelot frowned lightly at Ari and Ari realised then that she was staring. She cleared her throat and looked away quickly at the horses and made her way over to their sides, brushing off the faint flutter she felt beneath her chest and blamed the pink on her nose due to the cold morning frost. She refused to think of him that way, she could not.

Lancelot didn’t understand her reaction to him this morning, but kept it in the back of his mind to take reference of at a different time. He caught how her eyes briefly glanced up at him as she came to a stand still by Goliath’s head.

“Where is Percival?” He asked her, adjusting the position of the saddle he had just placed on Goliath’s back.

“Still sleeping. I thought he’d be easier to travel with if he’s well rested.” She replied with a hint of sarcasm as she stroked along Goliath’s cheek. Lancelot could not help the slight turn of his lips and the air which pushed out of his nose that almost resembled a chuckle. Ari did not miss the uncharacteristically soft noise which came from him. He bent beneath Goliath’s belly to reach for the saddle’s girth, grunting at the ache in his joints which had not yet awoken from the cold. He glanced down at her absentmindedly stroking his horse out of the corner of his eye as he buckled the leather into the saddle.

“You might be right,” he said, focussing back on tightening the buckles.

Ari realised something then, “Why do you not call him 'Squirrel'?”

“Squirrels are animals. He is not one,” Lancelot responded quickly, finishing off saddling his horse. Ari thought about how they had only ever known him as _the Weeping Monk_ , and remembered the thoughts that went through her mind when he had declared his name to her in the circle. It surprised her that he would have a name so charming.

“Did the Paladins know your real name?” Ari asked, trying to keep her tone light. Lancelot clenched his jaw for a second but let it go, picking up his bag from the ground to loop it onto the saddle.

“No,” only Father Carden had known his real name, but it's use was soon washed away and replaced with another. His real name was the one piece of his life as a Fey that he had always clung on to as he got older, the one thing that didn’t make him feel so much like a heartless weapon. The one thing that they couldn't beat out of him.

Ari nodded shallowly. She didn’t like people knowing her real name either, always using the shortened version. But his was not the same situation as hers, _maybe he wasn’t allowed to use his Fey name_. Lancelot turned to her, diverting the subject.

“We are nearly out of these forests. It should be easy to travel south from now on.”

“You know of a route?” She asked, fingers brushing over Goliath’s nose. She had planned a route out in her mind but since his knowledge of the kingdom was available for her to use, she thought she might as well ask. Lancelot knew of several, most of them likely swarming with Paladins by now.

“A few,” he said, “but they may not be safe for you to travel.”

“Nowhere is safe for me, or Squirrel,” she retorted, adding after a second “or you.” She glanced back to him, “The chance that the Paladins have followed Squirrel’s people south is a risk that we have to take.”

Lancelot casted his eyes away, his face showing nothing. She was right, nowhere on the road was safe for any of them. He thought for a moment and then turned to her, leaning a little into Goliath as if for moral support.

“With Carden gone,” he began, “the Paladins will be disordered. I doubt that they would follow the Fey that far south without him.” He watched her for a reaction.

“But there is still a chance?” She looked up to meet his eyes. His lungs sighed quietly, he did not know what the Paladins would do anymore without their leader. His reaction gave her all the answer that she needed.

“I would follow the coast down, or the River Wren. It travels most of the way,” Lancelot suggested.

“There are a lot of human villages by that river,” she said sceptically, dropping her hand from Goliath's nose.

“And many _Fey,”_ he offered. Ari considered him, her eyes drifting past him as she wandered off in thought. There were going to be villages in their path no matter which route they took. _She_ would not be safe from the humans and _he_ would not be safe from the Fey, it was a lose-lose situation. She would have to work out which was going to be best for the boy.

“It’s your decision.” He concluded, bringing her eyes sharply back to his.

Ari thought for another moment and then gave her opinion. “The river might be safer, it’s more sheltered within the forests, and its closer.” He nodded, agreeing with her. Cover is always good to have to travel discreetly, whether it is day or night, summer or winter.

Air moved around him and Goliath to saddle her own horse. Thinking of finding Squirrel’s people brought something else into her mind, “The woman Squirrel speaks of, _Nimue_ , you know of her?”

Lancelot hesitated for a second, “Yes.” He watched her over Goliath’s back.

“She is their leader?” She asked as she picked up Dusty’s saddle from inside the stable door and lowered it onto his back, not knowing truly whether it was a statement or a question.

“She is." Lancelot hesitated, "Paladins called her the wolf blood witch,” he hesitated again, “she calls herself the Fey queen.” Lancelot saw how Ari tensed a little at the title.

“I tracked her for a while,” he admitted lowly, averting his gaze from her.Ari contemplated what Lancelot had said, she knew what he had meant when he said he had tracked her.

“We had received word of what she was planning on doing, with getting her people to safety.”

“You did not want to follow?” He asked, lifting his eyes back up as she was almost done saddling the horse. He could see how her hands clenched over the leather and realised his question was perhaps a mistake. Ari felt a lump rise within her throat, or maybe it was anger. Not at him but what he was asking.

“We should not have to run from our own lands,” she said boldly. It hurt her more to say it to him than she thought it would.

Lancelot knew that her words were meant to backhand him, _the weeping monk_. He had caused so many to run from their homes in fear and desperation. He knew now that it was wrong and was ashamed of his own actions. Lancelot gave her a moment to breathe before saying lowly, honestly, “I am sorry.”

Ari’s hands which were double checking her saddlebags stopped at his apology. With her back to him she could not see his face, but she had heard the sincerity in his voice. She blinked slowly, willing for her temper to stay at bay. He had forsaken the Paladins but the memory of his actions still stung her, though not as strongly as it once did. She couldn't blame _him_ for what Carden made him do. She breathed out deeply and continued to check the saddlebags over finally before coming around to where she had been stood before. Her voice was quiet yet earnest.

“Many people chose to stay, they have faith that they will one day be free,” she said, absentmindedly running her hand along goliath's neck.

Lancelot looked at her, remembering how her people had respected her without fault.

“They have faith in you,” he said honestly, slowly, so that she heard everything that came from his lips. Ari’s head tilted and she felt herself soften a little, she had not expected him to say that. Lancelot bowed his head for a moment, shifting his weight, “They’re not the only ones.”

Ari’s lips parted as he lifted his face back up and gazed at her. He had said the words so quietly that she'd thought her mind had made them up. Lancelot gave her half an untrained smile, and Ari’s heart fluttered without her consent. The look upon his softening face was enough to make her heart ache again. _You should not feel this way_. She went to speak but before she could say anything, as if she even knew what she would have said, he stepped away. Leaving her thoroughly perplexed and maybe even flustered as he walked back over to the archway and out of sight.

~•~

Lancelot walked into the room which they had been staying in to find Squirrel perched with his arms folded against the windowsill, staring out into the air.

“What did you do to Ari?” The boy asked with an arched brow. Lancelot stopped what he was going to do and walked over to stand behind the boy, looking out over his shoulder.

“What do you mean?” He asked the child.

“She’s just standing there,” the boy gestured at the glass towards where the stables were in view. Ari was indeed still stuck in the spot where she had been standing, her hand resting on Goliath’s neck. In Squirrel’s opinion, she looked lost.

“We talked. That is all.” Lancelot removed himself back towards the bed where he had left his sword belt.

“About what?” Squirrel glanced over his shoulder at Lancelot.

“Our route.” Lancelot said plainly, not meeting the boy’s gaze as he buckled the belt around his waist.

“You must have said _something_ ,” the boy’s tone quirked up and down just like his eyebrows. Lancelot’s hands stilled over the belt, and Squirrel recognised Lancelot’s dilemma immediately.

“Ooo,” the boy squeaked, rushing over to jump up and kneel on the bed next to where Lancelot was stood still.

“You like her, don’t you?” The boy's body wriggled as he grinned wickedly at the man. He took pleasure in annoying him when he could. Lancelot turned his head and frowned at the child, attempting to silence his forthcoming inquisition. It did not work.

“You do!” Squirrel exclaimed. Lancelot rolled his eyes, scoffed, shook his head and turned away, motioning every action that he could possibly do to dismiss the boy’s statement.

“Awww Lance,” Squirrel teased him, jumping off of the bed to follow the man. “Why don’t you just-”

“Ready to go?” Ari’s voice came from the doorway, startling both of the males but more so Lancelot. _How much had she heard?_

She looked between them expectantly as they just stared at her slightly aghast. She raised her eyebrows, “you two alright?” She asked. The pair nodded in unison but not convincingly. Ari watched them sceptically, stepping forward to pick up the three metal plates they had been using to take with them. “Okay, well, whenever you boys are ready, the horses are waiting.” She gave them both another puzzled look and turned to leave.

As soon as Ari was out of the door, Squirrel’s head turned painfully slowly towards Lancelot, a devilish smirk plastered across the boy’s face. Lancelot frowned deeply at the child, shoving him gently towards the door.

~•~

They rode their horses side by side as usual through the woodland, having left Yvoire as soon as the snow had begun to melt. Conversation flowed a little easier than it had done the day before. Lancelot had felt more comfortable with her last night and this morning, but the way she was looking at him felt different, he couldn’t place why. He focussed on tying his hair back as it usually was to cast his mind away. Little did he know that Ari was feeling the same way.

Lancelot had practically said that he has faith in her, Ari doesn't know if this troubles her or not, if it _should_ trouble her or not. She had given him the amulet, _his amulet_ , but it was not yet unconditional. So many of her kind would demand retribution from him, but they do not know him like she was starting to. She knows now why he had done what he has done, none of it being completely his fault. She had once placed all of the blame on him, but now that wasn’t true. She blamed Carden and the other reds for abusing Lancelot’s young mind and making him into their own. He was going to have to fight for his chance to live amongst her people, if that was what he wanted to do, he hadn’t spoken of the future. Ari could help him, but she could only go so far.

She had thought Lancelot not capable of emotion, a ruthless crusader in this war against the Fey. But then he had spiralled, and she had watched over him as he cried. She saw that he was not truly the apathetic monster he had been taught to be. He was ashamed of everything he had done and she could feel this strongly, even if he didn’t always show it. But then he had looked at her in the stables, _smiled at her._ And she did not see the monster at all, she just saw Lancelot.

Squirrel walked ahead of them in the snow, tired and a little sore of riding a horse for so many days in a row. Or at least that’s what he had told Ari when he climbed down off of her horse against her protest. The boy was actually just wanting to get up to his usual tricks and cause a little more mischief. After discovering a potential secret of Lancelot’s earlier that morning, Squirrel thought that leaving them alone together could turn out to be an interesting idea. _A cunning plan_ , he thought.

Ari and Lancelot rode together quietly as they kept an eye on the boy up ahead, who bundled snow into his hands and threw it towards trees as target practice. Ari seemed to relax into herself the more that she was away from her people. It appeared contradictory but she was a queen, there were ways in which she was expected to speak and behave. But when it was just her, she could let those ways go for a while. Lancelot had noticed the difference.

“You are good with him,” she gestured her chin towards the boy, breaking their silence. Lancelot looked away from the trail and towards her. He’d never known if he was good with children or not, they usually ran away from him. But something in him felt protective of them, and especially Percival, he had always spared the children. Lancelot thought it nice to know that at least one person thought he was good with the boy. He shrugged off the compliment, not knowing how to respond and turned back to the path ahead. His childhood had been taken from him, he didn't want the same to happen to any others. 

“Did you have siblings?” She asked curiously after a moment, catching him off guard but he did not turn. Lancelot looked as though he was trying to remember, or maybe he was trying to forget.

“I had a brother,” he said regretfully, watching Squirrel up ahead.

Ari asked carefully, “Was he there with you when it happened?” _Was he there at the Burning Night?_

Lancelot shook his head in response, his half-brother had remained at their father’s castle.

“He could be alive,” Ari said pensively. Their conversations were getting easier, more natural, harbouring less anguish and haste than the days and weeks prior, but she was still careful.

“There are no other Ash left,” Lancelot’s hand gripped tighter around his reins.

“ _You survived_. Perhaps he did too.”

Lancelot turned his eyes further away, _she was not there that night_. The home of the Ash folk was not far from the Sunborn court, the two species were close allies and the oldest of the Fey. Their homes and villages were the first to be destroyed by the hatred of the Paladins. Only three had survived that night. Himself, and her parents.

Lancelot sighed, “Do you? Have siblings?”

“I did once, when I was small. I can’t remember him.”

Lancelot turned his eyes back to her, understanding the feeling, “I’m sorry.” Their lives seemed to find more and more tragically in common with one another the more that they spoke.

Ari brushed it off, “It’s okay, he was not on the earth for long.”

“Your parents didn’t...” Lancelot trailed off, casting his eyes again away from her face. He had never really ever thought about what it was to bear children and raise them. He hadn’t ever needed to think about it.

Ari understood what he was attempting to ask, “Maybe, I don’t know. I don’t think my mother could have handled it,” she shrugged.

Lancelot wanted to steer the conversation somewhere else, he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the current topic and he knew very little of it. He didn’t want to make her have to remember something like that. He gave the air a moment of silence before he recalled their earlier conversation, “This girl, _Nimue_ , she does not bother you?”

Ari sighed, a little struck by his change in direction. “I am queen by blood. I earned the respect of my people as my father had done. This _Nimue_ is named queen because she has the sword of power?” Squirrel had mentioned it many times.

The grunt that came from Lancelot signalled his _yes_. “You are queen by blood,” he echoed her statement. They walked on for several paces whilst Ari thought. 

“If the girl can rule the Fey better than I,” she sighed, “then I will step aside. The Sunborn line will die with me anyway,” she said a little dejectedly.

Lancelot’s eyes turned to her quickly, he did not figure her as the type to say something like that, to give up her claim to the throne to be replaced by another. He frowned at her, “And if she doesn’t?” He asked.

She turned her face to look at him, arching her brow, “Then I hope that we would come to an agreement.”

She held his eyes strongly for a few of the horse’s steps. She was not untested as a queen, having led her fighters against the red humans multiple times, but those events were nothing like the war that the wolf blood witch was planning, or indeed had already started with the sword. The Sword of Power was stronger than Ari ever could be, and she knew it. So if the girl was right for the Fey as their leader, Ari thought it right to offer to step aside. If her father were here then perhaps it would be a different story. But he wasn’t, and it was down to Ari to keep them safe. She knew what she had to do thanks to Zurah’s advice, it was just a matter of time before she could act.

“Guys! Look what I found!” Squirrel’s voice cut over them, pulling Ari away from her thoughts. She urged Dusty forwards into a trot to catch up to the boy and Lancelot did the same with Goliath.

“What is it?” She asked as she slowed down her horse to stand beside him.

Squirrel pointed to some trees several lengths away from the edge of the trail.

“Directions,” Lancelot said from behind them as he got closer, seeing the swirling of twigs tied together in various forms and shapes, hidden between the trees and carved into bark.

Ari looked over her shoulder at the Ash man, “How do you-”

The look he gave her silenced her, and answered her question before she had even asked it. _Of course he knows_. She brushed it off, it did not matter now anyway. She turned back to the symbols.

“What do they say?” Squirrel asked as he shuffled closer towards the trees, annoyingly blocking her view a little given the question he’d asked.

“There’s a camp, west, about two-”

A scream in the distance of the trail cut through Ari's words, startling each of them and the horses. Everyone’s eyes bolted towards where the sound had come from. Then another scream came along with muffled grunts and shouting. Ari looked to Lancelot quickly, “Stay with Squirrel,” she ordered him whilst urging Dusty forwards.

~•~

Her horse’s hooves moved fast and lightly through the snow, making a trail behind them as they followed the voice of a screaming woman, and child. They brushed past trees and bushes, disturbing the settled snowflakes. Voices of men got louder and louder, she was almost there. She did not know if she was rushing towards the aid of Fey or human voices but it did not matter. The trail her horse galloped along came out onto a road. She slowed him and twisted her body as she searched for the voices. A cry came from her right and the horse turned towards it. The woman screamed for her child as the two were dragged apart. Then she saw the three men grabbing at them, _bandits_. Ari did not think, drawing her sword from her hip and raising it in the air. She shouted to get their attention. The men turned their heads to her but did not loosen their grips on their captives. The distraction gave the woman the opportunity to elbow one in the face, forcing his nose to bleed. Ari charged her horse forward towards them, sword drawn down out her side. She did not know who to go for first, it was three against one, and hoped that one of them would come forward by their own volition.

The one with the bloody nose gripped onto both arms of the woman and pushed her knees to the ground as the other drew his axe and stalked towards where Ari was charging. She unhooked her feet from the stirrups when they were close enough, her right leg swung forwards over Dusty’s neck and she spun to slide down the horse’s side. The day her father had taught her that trick had indeed been a painful one. Ari landed on her feet with her momentum driving her sword down into the man who had ran towards her, axe drawn. She caught him in the arm and he hissed as he reached to try and grab her, swinging his axe in his other hand. Ari’s sword blocked the axe and she kicked at his knees, forcing him to stumble. Then put her sword into him to grant him a slow death.

The woman meanwhile had fought back against the bloodied man. She shoved him with all her might and managed to get out of his hold. The other man had released the child at once and came forward to aid his friend.

“Take my horse!” Ari shouted at the woman and child. She vaguely saw them scurry away but did not know if they took the horse or not, for another man who lunged towards her diverted her attention. She parried a couple of his attempts to disarm her with his own blade before slashing him through the gut. He fell to the ground in what must have been a painful demise.

The third came out of nowhere, blood dripping down his face as he rammed into her side. He was built like a drunkard and weighed probably the same as Ari’s horse. Ari landed with a thud to the floor and his foot came down onto her sword. He kicked at her ribs but Ari rolled away in the dirt just in time to avoid the touch of his boot. She got to her feet but without a sword, this was going to be difficult.

“You like losing to a woman?” She taunted the man. He growled and lunged for her with her own sword. She was much lighter on her feet than he was and dodged once, twice, stepping sideways and around him. He twisted around backwards and caught her abdomen with his elbow. Ari doubled over and he gave another blow, pushing her to the floor.

The man had her pinned on the ground, a leg pressed between hers as he used his immense body weight to hold her down. She struggled to breathe at the hand around her throat, eyes widening at the fist which pulled back and-

“Lay a hand on her and she will be the last thing that you touch.”

 _Lancelot_. The tip of his sword pressed into the base of the man’s skull, a warning. The man stilled, his fist clenched on the end of a bent arm within the air. Ari could hear the threat seething in Lancelot's voice.

“Remove yourself, or I will do it for you,” Lancelot threatened him further, not knowing when he had become so protective over her. Ari’s attacker turned his head slowly, enough for his eyes to meet Lancelot’s. The man must have recognised him immediately for the sudden noise which came from his throat suggested he knew of the monk’s reputation. Lancelot stared him square in the eye, emotionless as he pushed his sword further into the man when he did not move quickly enough, drawing blood which trickled down his neck. _Old habits die hard_.

The bandit hissed at the cut and released his hand from her throat. Ari kicked up between the man’s legs violently and he shouted out in pain, falling over to the side. She got up a little wobbly onto her feet and looked across to search where she had thought the woman and child had ran off to. Lancelot was not concerned for them at that moment. His eyes went to her neck like they had done when the Paladin cut her chest, but this time his hand followed.

He was not thinking when his fingertips brushed the redness on her skin. She flinched, turning her face back to him. She did not mind the touch it was just, _unexpected_. He drew his hand away but it hung near her shoulder in the air, his lips parting as his widening eyes looked at her. The instinct to reach for her was an unexpected shock to his system and it must have shown on his face, for he did not usually show much.

“I’m okay,” she breathed, easing his mind. Only then did he feel himself relax, hand dropping back to his side. The grunts of the man wriggling on the floor with palms pressed to where Ari had kicked him brought them back to the situation. Lancelot scowled down at the man who tried to bring himself onto his knees.

“Bitch!” He growled up at Ari who was not phased by it. Lancelot gripped his sword tighter and raised it as a reflex.

“Don’t,” she pressed her hand to his overcoat sleeve to stop him. Lancelot stilled his motion with the sword but did not look away from the man.

“If you want to end up like your friends then so be it, otherwise, _shut up_.” Ari spat at him. The idiot ignored her warning.

“He wouldn’t dare,” the bandit breathed, glancing up along Lancelot’s sword, “the Weeping Monk kills _Fey_ , not humans.”

Ari opened her mouth but before she could start what she was going to say Lancelot had brought the hilt of his sword to the side of the man’s head. The bandit hit the dirt hard with a thump and blacked out.

Ari turned her face to Lancelot, eyebrows raised, “Was that necessary?” She was serious.

Lancelot raised his sword and pointed with it to the two bandits she had impaled moments prior, cocking his head at her. Ari followed his sword with her eyes but came back to him. “Fair point,” she said sarcastically, pressing her hand to the sudden ache in her abdomen, thinking of the bruise that was going to undoubtedly form there.

They both heard the whinny of a horse and looked up. The woman stood with her child, a girl of no more than six summers, and Ari’s horse. Neither of them could tell what the woman was thinking as she stared back at them in the distance.

“They’re not Fey,” Lancelot whispered under his breath as he watched the woman, who had clearly also recognised him for she looked mortified. His senses did not deceive him.

Ari’s hand touched his sleeve again gently by his side to get his attention, “Wait here?” He nodded, turning his body so that he could keep an eye on the road in the other direction.

Ari took a breath and started to walk forward. As she got closer she could tell that the woman had seen something which alarmed her further, perhaps the blood on her clothes or her golden eyes. The woman clutched onto her child, “you are not human," her breath shook.

Ari slowed down her steps but still came closer with caution. She tried to appear less threatening and violent than she had just been, letting her shoulders relax. The woman was unarmed, the worst that she could possibly do would be to run off with the horse.

“No.” Ari responded simply with a slight twist of her head. She noticed how the woman’s hand gripped tighter around Dusty’s reins, preparing for flight.

“You are Fey?” The dark haired woman questioned tentatively. Ari nodded.

“You saved us, why?” The woman took a step back as Ari got closer.

Ari did not quite have an answer. All she knew was that no woman or child deserved what was about to happen to them. She sighed, “They were going to hurt you, and your girl.” She said plainly, there was no other explanation. The woman seemed to relax a little but then her eyes went to Lancelot in the distance who had started to drag the men out of the road and roll them behind the tree line.

“The Weeping Monk-” she started shakily.

“Is only a threat to those who had wished to harm you,” Ari cut her off, her hand coming out as if she were soothing a scared animal. The woman didn’t seem too convinced, even humans were scared of the Weeping Monk. “I promise you, you are safe with us,” she tried again to reassure her. The woman relaxed her shoulders a little at Ari’s words. Ari blinked and lowered her head into a nod.

“I swear your horse is just as stubborn as you are Lancelot!” came the voice of Squirrel as he struggled to pull Goliath into the road, the horse’s mouth full of reeds of dying grass that he had found beneath a patch of snow. They turned to the commotion, the woman saw the boy’s ease with the monk and visibly relaxed, loosening the grip on her child. The fact that they had a boy who was so casual with the Monk could not be a bad thing. _Perhaps they will not hurt us_.

“Which way were you headed?” Ari stepped closer, her hand reaching to the reins of her horse. She started to walk them back towards the others. The woman picked her daughter up and held her close, shielding her eyes from the sight of the men bleeding by the side of the road.

“That way,” the woman pointed down the road past Lancelot, “to see my brother, he is sick.”

Lancelot’s ears caught the end of the woman’s words. He looked to Ari, already knowing what she was likely thinking. She looked back at Lancelot as he came to stand with them, he nodded as if he had read her mind. The woman eyed Lancelot’s frame sceptically, especially the sword at his hip.

“We can escort you for a while,” Ari said.

“Oh, no we couldn’t-” the woman started to protest.

“We’re heading south anyway,” Squirrel interrupted the woman, earning a nudge from Lancelot. Ari would have also scolded the interruption if she hadn’t have agreed with him. The mother smiled weakly at the boy. 

“Here, take my horse,” Ari said, offering out the reins.

“That’s not necessary,” the woman argued, "we can walk."

“You have been through enough, here,” Ari offered the reins again, and this time the woman took them. She considered the offer for a moment and then pulled herself up onto the horse, then with a little help from Ari, they lifted her daughter up to sit at the front of the saddle.

Ari turned to Squirrel and Lancelot once the woman and child were settled. Lancelot held out Ari’s sword to her which he had cleaned in the the snow. She thanked him and sheathed it away. The trio glanced at each other and then at Goliath.

“I’ll walk,” Squirrel volunteered abruptly with a voice a little higher than usual.

“Percival-” Lancelot went to object but the boy had already turned on his heels and began off on the road. Lancelot huffed, “Stick to the trees,” he called out in his raspy voice to him. Squirrel wobbled his head in defiance, mockingly muttering _stick to the trees_ to himself but diverted his path towards the tree line anyway. Ari turned to Lancelot, eyes flicking between him and the remaining horse. Lancelot stepped aside and gestured for her to take Goliath.

“You should rest,” he said to her.

“I’ll be fine,” she argued, but the pressure in her abdomen said otherwise.

“ _You will rest_.” He gestured again at Goliath, defying her. Ari narrowed her eyes at him briefly but then sighed, the ache in her stomach growing stronger. She stepped forwards towards the dark horse, gathering up his reins as she placed her hands on each end of the saddle. She went to put her left foot in the stirrup but the pain came back strongly and she winced, doubling into the side of the horse who craned his head around towards her. She had not expected to get so wounded on this journey. Lancelot stepped to her as soon as she had doubled as if he had expected it, his hand hovering in front of her shoulder to steady her if she needed it. 

“Let me help,” he whispered gently over her. The husk in his voice did something to Ari and it was not entirely unpleasant. Ari conceded, she knew when to accept help when it was being offered. She lifted her left ankle. Lancelot bent and took her knee in one hand and her foot in the other. He counted her down and then gave her a leg up surprisingly gently into the saddle. She winced again as her body twisted into place but it was not as painful as before. Lancelot made sure she was settled for a second before he took a few steps to follow the boy.

“Lance,” she stopped him. He turned to see her arm stretched down by her thigh. _Lance_ , she had never called him that. He looked hesitant to take it so Ari tilted her head.

“You wouldn’t want to disobey your queen, would you?” She smirked at him, something glinting in her eyes which was new to him. _So this is what Father Carden had warned you about_. His eyes narrowed but he could not help the smile that threatened to tug at his lips at her confidence. He took her hand and with a bit of effort, hoisted himself up onto Goliath without causing her any pain. He sat as far back as he could to give her space, but she did not seem to mind the closeness. He’d never been so near to a woman like this before, it was definitely unnerving.

They came across the bandits’ loot a little further down the road. Squirrel rummaged around to see what he could find, a bow and full quiver being the most useful things, followed by a small coin purse. He tried to hide it beneath his belt but Lancelot caught him. Ari split the money, giving most to the woman and child and keeping a little for themselves. It was not much but it could probably buy them some bread from a village if they dared to enter one.

~•~

“How old is your boy?”

“Oh, he’s not-” Ari cut herself off as she panicked internally, breaking the steadfast demeanour she usually held. She should have guessed that they did look a little like a family in an odd sort of way. She settled for, “I’m not sure. He’s not ours, it’s hard to explain.” The woman looked a little concerned for the boy but she did not press further. Lancelot’s brows pinched at Ari’s phrasing, he’s not _ours_. “We are taking him back to his people,” Ari clarified, and the woman seemed to understand their situation, cradling her own daughter in her arms.

“You said you are a queen?” The woman asked. Ari felt Lancelot tense behind her, she weighed up the decision to admit who she was to the human.

“I am,” she replied in her measured tone, keeping her eyes forwards.

“And, you two are...” the woman trailed off leaving room for inference, gesturing between Ari and Lancelot, the latter of which had tensed again.

“Just friends,” Ari countered quickly to pacify the woman, not knowing what else to call them. She hadn’t thought much about naming their relationship.

Lancelot’s eyes turned quickly to the back of her head when she responded, he hadn’t thought much of it either. There was no name for their relationship, but there was a look in the woman’s eye to suggest that she knew better, though she did not comment further on it. ‘ _Friends_ ’ wasn’t entirely false, but it wasn’t entirely true either. _We can never be friends_. They carried on walking in the direction the woman was taking them for another half an hour.

Goliath missed a step and the sudden dipping sensation brought their bodies closer together, Lancelot’s hands coming dangerously low to her hips as he tried to steady himself, and her. Lancelot removed his hands as quickly as they had come to her.

Ari felt herself blushing, fiercely, and sent a silent prayer to the Hidden for them to strike her down now for fear that anybody else would have seen it. She knew she would hear no end of it if Squirrel had turned around at the right time.

Lancelot adjusted backwards, trying to regain the distance which had been between them before. His palm twitched and he focussed on brushing off the feeling of his hands on her, thankful that she didn’t turn around and say something.

They walked on parallel to the road in a contempt quiet as the woman talked gently with her child. Ari glanced over frequently at the mother cradling the young girl who slowly lulled into a sleep against her mother’s chest. It was perhaps an hour later when they came to the trees at the edge of a human village.

“We cannot go further,” Ari said to the woman as she pulled Goliath to a halt.

“I understand. Thank you, both, so much,” The woman responded, genuinely grateful for their escort. Squirrel came to them and took hold of Dusty’s reins at the bridle.

The woman shifted in the saddle, turning to them, “I will make sure my daughter knows of who saved her life today.”

Ari nodded, “I appreciate that, thank you.” Perhaps if more humans were like her, then maybe this war between their kinds would end. Lancelot dismounted from behind Ari, her head turning quickly to him at the unexpected movement. He walked over to the woman and child and offered his hands to help get the little girl down from the horse. The woman no longer seemed so afraid of him and gave her daughter to his arms willingly. Lancelot held the girl beneath the arms and gently pulled her down to the floor, soon followed by the woman who dismounted by herself easily.

“Thank you, again,” the woman said as she took her daughter’s hand in her own. Ari and Lancelot both nodded their _your welcomes_ in unison. They watched as the woman ushered her child away towards the village. To their surprise, the little girl turned as she walked and waved goodbye to them with a smile across her face. Lancelot felt the innocent gesture chip away at his softening heart, and to his own surprise, he gave a small wave back at the little one.

Ari saw Lancelot return the wave and her face couldn’t help but smile at him. She remembered how he had helped the little Fey girl who had tripped in her camp get back onto her feet, and how he had quietly reassured the girl that she was okay. _Perhaps the Paladins hadn’t stolen all of the good out of his heart after all_.

“Take Goliath,” he said as he turned to look over Dusty’s back at her, “I’ll walk yours, give him a rest,” he said, noting the glazed over look she was giving him. It reminded him of the morning, she had looked at him the same way then and he still didn’t know why. He gave her a questionable glance before turning to take the reins from Squirrel.

Lancelot sounded different, not like he had done before. It was like he had pulled the emotion out of his voice. Ari questioned in her mind _why_ but let it go, motioning Goliath gently to follow on. They walked for hours, switching to canter the horses when they were able, continuing south-west amongst the forest towards the River Wren.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter and a lot of plot (I apologise) but we would be here forever otherwise haha. I don't know how I feel about this one but hey, here you go. There's so many things I could say about this so here's just a few:  
> Ari teased him a little at the end and I thought it was cute.  
> She knows he's pretty and she's not good at hiding it.  
> It's funny because our boy Lance doesn't understand why she's looking differently at him, our poor oblivious boy.  
> Lancelot gets his amulet!  
> Also protective!Lancelot mode has been activated.  
> Squirrel is a cheeky little sh-


	15. fire and water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions rise in more ways than one as Ari, Lancelot and Squirrel make camp in the snow for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW// discussion of religious-based self harm.  
> comments are very much appreciated :D x

[[Moodboard](https://captainbucky-yt.tumblr.com/post/642120646761054208/youre-not-what-i-was-looking-forthe-weeping)]

They had made a camp beneath the dying sunlight, having been unable to find any other suitable shelter like they had been so lucky with before. Lancelot was keeping his distance and Ari couldn’t work out why. He had walked out as soon as they arrived with the bow and managed to catch only one rabbit in the dying light for them to share. Fortunately, they also had some scraps of cheese left in the saddlebags from the abbey to pad out their supper. As the evening cooled and the snow hardened, Lancelot watched intermittently as Ari taught Squirrel a game that they carved into the snow with sticks. It did not seem difficult but the boy got frustrated every time that he lost, which was often. Ari eventually decided to let him win a few rounds on purpose and Squirrel soon perked back up again.

Lancelot felt a shiver move down his spine from the chilling air, he knew that if he was somewhat cold, then they definitely would be too. He stood and went over to the horses tied at the side of the camp, placing the arrows he had been sharpening back into the quiver. He walked back over to them with one half of the blanket in each of his hands.

“Percival,” he said to get the boy’s attention. Squirrel’s eyes widened almost comically as he looked up and took the thick fabric from the man’s outstretched hand willingly, wrapping it around himself. Lancelot stepped closer to Ari and offered her the other half, not knowing quite when he had genuinely started to care for her welfare. She looked up at him as he towered over her.

“You’ll be cold,” she refused, prompting for him to take it.

“I’ll be fine,” he rebuffed. Out of the three of them he was the one most suitably dressed for a night out like this with his many layers. The Paladins had dressed him as such to be able to carry any clothing that he would ever need with him in whatever weather he came across. Ari arched her eyebrow at him but Lancelot did not back down, he flicked his wrist and gestured the blanket to her again.

Ari sighed reluctantly and lifted her hand up, her fingers brushing along his accidentally as she took it from him. She saw the bandages that she had tied around his palms looking a little worse for wears, she had almost forgotten about them. Ari’s eyes looked up quickly to his cloaked figure as he walked away.

“How are your hands?” She asked the air.

“They’re fine,” he deadpanned, barely acknowledging her as he continued to walk back to his spot in the snow. Ari frowned, she could tell from his tone and the way his actions had stiffened since the morning that something was bothering him.

“It’s been over two days, let me check them,” she told him, finally stopping him in his tracks. 

Lancelot sighed, turning back slowly, there was no point in arguing with her. He was a little annoyed at the attention, nobody had ever been so bothered about his welfare. They were only small cuts and nothing actually worth worrying about, but she had done, and she had tended to them in the barn. He came over and stood far enough away for her to be able to reach his outstretched hands. She glanced up at him as then twisted to a better position, peeling the two wraps of cloth she had tied around his palms a few nights before.

Lancelot’s voice dulled as he said to her, “See, they’re fine.” He pulled his unwrapped hands back to his sides and turned away before she could argue. The wounds were indeed fine and had started to heal well, he was not concerned for them.

“You should wash them again, just to be safe,” Ari suggested as he walked away, ignoring her comment. Lancelot huffed silently, he had a long way to go in learning how to let people care for him.

Ari couldn’t understand the reason for Lancelot’s shift in demeanour. He was almost a completely different person now than he was with her in the morning. His hair was tied up again in its usual low bun and his hood was placed back over his head. Ari’s mind turned to try and think of some answers, he was retreating but she didn’t know why. Perhaps the shift was because of the conversation that the woman they rescued had started when they were riding, Ari remembered how Lancelot tensed behind her when the woman had insinuated that there was something more between them. And then she remembered how Goliath had stumbled, forcing her closer to him or him to her, either way it did not matter. She recalled how his hands came to her hips, and maybe that was it. Maybe that was why. _Had he ever touched a woman like that?_ She could see why it might have made a man of the cloth like him retreat back into himself, though knowing Lancelot, and her _too quick to jump to conclusions_ mind, she was probably wrong and there was likely a different reason for his avoidance.

Lancelot felt _the Weeping Monk_ crawling back under his skin. He knew he had been living a lie, pretending to be human when he was not one, _a wolf in sheep’s clothing_. So much was happening, so much was changing. He hated the fact that the Monk was somehow his safety net, an easy escape to fall back on, one escape route he didn’t want. The Monk had _control_ , _power_ , _dominance_ over his emotions, whereas Lancelot’s mind was a fumbling mess. His expressionless mask dropped down over his face effortlessly as he settled back down into the snow. He could see Ari watching him but he ignored her gaze. He felt something, a new something that he didn’t know what to do with. But it wasn’t just that, it was the sudden freedom to not have to conform, to not have to be so still and emotionless, that he didn’t know what to do with most.

Perhaps it was his wavering sense of self preservation that had driven him back into this deep rooted state of darkness, a need to protect himself from his own thoughts and feelings. He felt how he had slipped back into the skin of _the Weeping Monk_ when he had pressed his blade into the bandit’s neck. In that moment, he did not care for the blood that he was drawing so long as it wasn’t his own. Then as soon as he looked into her eyes, at the redness along her skin, the notion of the Monk drifted away and he was Lancelot once more. He had reached out to her in that moment and he didn’t know why. He wanted to crack the shell, to scratch beneath the surface to who he really is, but he can’t quite reach it as long as _the Weeping Monk_ still hangs over him like this. He focussed on the fire, on the breath that moved through his lungs, and tried to bring _Lancelot_ back.

~•~

Lancelot glanced at her and thought for a moment that he saw something of himself, a counterpart matching his being. It did not scare him but maybe it should. She had not shown a single ounce of remorse for ending the lives of those bandits. _They were not attacking Fey, they shouldn’t have been her concern_. So why did she do it? If they had been Paladins or threatening her own people then he would not consider questioning her actions, but they weren’t, they were just humans. Lancelot couldn’t help but think that maybe she was not what he had thought she was, it wasn’t the first time that she didn’t hesitate to go for the final strike. Ari had not killed him, a murderer of her own kind when she had the chance to, yet she cut down those men like it was second nature. He knows what that’s like, _that viscousness_. How it eats and claws away at your insides until there is nothing left. He watched her carefully as she smiled with Squirrel, playing their game with sticks again in the snow and something within Lancelot wished that he was there too. He couldn’t understand her, she had berated him for such actions but she was fine with committing them herself? Ari glanced her eyes up briefly only to meet Lancelot’s staring back at her, his face hardened beneath that dark hood of his.

“What is it?” She asked, elbows resting on her bent up knees. He thought for a moment if he really wanted to go there, but she had done the same to him.

“You did not think twice about killing those men.” He did not think twice about stating it. Ari’s smile quickly faded, she felt Squirrel’s eyes turn up to them and hoped that the boy would have enough sense to stay quiet.

“No,” she replied too quickly, his statement hadn’t even made her blink. It felt odd how the tables had turned and he was now questioning her actions. Unlike he had done with her, she would not dismiss his questions.

“Why?” He asked plainly. Once more they were caught in a stand off.

“I do not always have the luxury of thinking twice,” her voice was stern, _heavy is the head that wears the crown._ “If I am to unite us with the humans then I must be a queen to _all._ I would not let the woman and child get hurt.” She turned her eyes away as if to suggest the conversation was over. 

Lancelot raised an eyebrow and Ari caught the expression when she looked back over to him, she knew what he was thinking. The fist she didn’t realise she was making around the stick in her hand tightened, and Lancelot saw it.

“You think that I enjoyed doing that?” Her eyebrows raised accusatively. A wind rustled through the trees and she felt like it was pushing them closer, as if they were uprooting themselves and stalking towards her. 

Lancelot replied through gritted teeth, “You did not seem to mind.”

That accusation cut Ari straight to the core, she felt her frustration flash across her face. _Did he not recall the woman and child in danger?_ She bit down on her lip and made an attempt to compose herself before she said something that she would regret, looking down to the ground between them for a moment. She could feel him still examining her from across the camp, he did not know just how wrong he was to assume that.

Lancelot shifted when he saw her face change, she looked frustrated but not at him, at herself. She was breathing quicker and if the tension in her jaw meant anything, it meant that she wanted to run.

“I have done many things that I am disgusted by to protect my people,” she admitted, just loud enough for him to hear her, “in order to survive, our only choice has been to fight back.” She paused, her eyes which were beginning to water came up to meet his, “I am not proud of it, but I cannot afford to second guess each of my actions. Not when people are in danger - they are _my_ responsibility.” She knew there was no right way to justify murder.

Lancelot’s face tilted up as his expression softened, he understood her, _what she wasn’t saying_. He noticed her leg begin to bounce restlessly and the unbroken tear in the corner of her eye which reflected in the firelight. Squirrel shifted beside Ari as if to move closer, to comfort her. Lancelot once again saw a part of himself mirrored in her, they both shared this same guilt that sickened them but for different reasons. She was younger than him by only a few summers and yet the fate of all Fey depended on her actions as their queen, he couldn’t imagine having that much pressure put on himself with no one there to guide him like Carden had done. They had both lost their parental figures and were left out in this messed up world. He decided not to push further, biting back with regret that he had even brought it all up, _who am I to judge her?_

Ari felt her chest tightening, the blood on her hands was so much more than perhaps he thought it was, more than she would openly admit. The guilt she repressed crept up to the surface, she tried to take a breath. Maybe she was the real monster here.

“I do not like being this way,” she said solemnly, hanging her head before it swung up to meet his eyes, “but it has to be done,” she concluded and looked away. Ari wiped at an escaped tear quickly from the corner of her eye as she pushed herself up onto her feet, turning away towards the trees.

Lancelot could see her guilt, how she was pushing it all down. He found his chest clenching, he knew what that was like, to be consumed by that type of darkness. He realised then that he was wrong, Ari was indeed the person that he thought she was. She pushed many things away because her people needed her to be stronger than anyone else, and she didn’t think of the consequences to herself. He remembered how she was prepared to charge head first into an army of red Paladins and the only reason that she didn’t was because he had stopped her. He saw that despite how she felt, she put her people first. She really was their queen. He did not want her wandering off in the darkness but he would not command her to come back. He held onto her scent, _wood violet and leather_ , just to make sure that she was alright.

Ari stepped away towards the trees to get away for just a moment to breathe. She had not asked to be queen, to have this responsibility at such a young age. Her father had disappeared ten years ago when she was merely fourteen summers, and her responsibilities to their people grew. Then her mother had passed six years later and the weight of the Fey suddenly landed solely on her shoulders. She had no time to grieve so just pushed it all away.

Ari had been raised to lead justly and her instincts were usually what kept them alive but she was also smart, she inherited her way of thinking from her father. She learned quickly to be confident with her decisions and to follow what her heart was telling her, she could not second guess her actions when lives depended on them. Her palms pressed to her eyes, she hated herself for many of the things that she’d done to keep them all safe. She never forgot the faces of those she had taken, not even the Paladins, she remembered them all.

~•~

The night drew in quickly and soon the boy started complaining. He liked snow, he just didn’t like having to sleep in it.

“I’m cold,” Squirrel moaned from beside Ari as they leant back against an old tree.

“I know,” Ari sighed, pulling the blanket further around him. She had come back to the camp after a few minutes of breathing through her problems. Lancelot hadn’t said anything more to her about it but a look he had given her when she arrived back seemed to suggest he was apologetic.

Her eyes cast back to the fire, mind turning as she watched the embers crackle out and into the melting snow. There was something she could do that _could_ help the boy, it was a little risky but she had done it before a long time ago.

“Do you trust me?” She turned and asked the boy. He looked at her for a moment, then nodded.

“Hold out your hand,” she instructed.

“But it’s cold,” the boy moaned, wanting to keep his limbs beneath the cover of the blanket.

“Just do it,” she said lightheartedly. He did, bringing it out from under his covers. She turned his hand so his palm faced upwards. Ari uncovered her own palm.

“Don’t be scared,” she warned him. The boy’s eyes grew a little wider. She took a breath, and hovered her hand above his. Her eyes glowed brighter and a small flame came between their palms. She looked at the boy’s face, his body tense as he was scared into stillness. She tried to reassure him, “Don't worry, it will not burn you.” Squirrel’s eyes darted to hers and he relaxed a little. Lancelot, however, did not. She had admitted to him at Zurah’s cabin that she had not fully learned to use her fire powers. The boy relaxed further as the heat from the flame started to warm up his body. “Here,” she whispered as she took her hand away. The balled fire stayed above Squirrel’s tiny palm. She gently moved his hand and the flame moved with it.

“Wow,” Squirrel gazed at the magic as he rotated his hand, making the small flame dance around his skin.

“Is that safe?” Lancelot asked from over where he was sat away from the trees. Ari turned her eyes to him, her eyebrow quirked up. He had thrown a few apologetic looks on her direction when she had returned but he had not said anything.

She stood and walked over towards Lancelot who watched her approach him sceptically, he was not entirely comfortable with Fey powers just yet. Her knees tucked beneath her as she knelt before him. Lancelot lifted an eyebrow at her closeness, then at the hand which she held out between them.

“Do you trust me?” She asked lowly, strong eyes holding his. It took him by surprise, _trust_ was not a word he often used, it was not something he ever truly gave or received. He watched her eyes, serious and enticing. They pulled him into something he had not known, something sinful.

“Yes.”

Lancelot had not thought of it before, but he did. She had looked out for him, tended his wounds, helped him start to open up to the Fey world, accepted him as one of her own. His past was exposed bare before her and she did not run away from him, just as he was not running from her. She was open with him like nobody had ever been. The pieces of the puzzle of his heart started to click together the more he got to know her. Her smile, her laugh. Her slightly unkept temper and her unapologetic smirks. _Her eyes._

Ari reached and took his hand from his bent up knees and upturned it in the palm of her own, Lancelot let her. The skin on the back of his hand was ice cold in the palm of hers. She checked his face for a sign, anything to tell her to stop.

Lancelot watched her with intent as she held onto his gaze, suddenly more aware of the beating within his chest and his skin touching hers.

Ari waited for him to back down, but he didn’t. She took a shallow breath, and summoned her powers as her eyes glowed a faint golden, then a flame came up over his palm. His eyes flicked down and back up, he didn’t know why it had surprised him when he already knew what was going to happen. The tiny flame burned, slowly, rising up and spitting a couple of dangerous sparks. A few landed on what little was exposed of his skin but they did not burn him, he didn’t even feel them. And even if they had done, he was used to fire.

Lancelot could not break his eyes away from hers burrowing into whatever was left of his damaged soul. The heat spread across his palm to his fingertips and the warmth of his hand moved down into her palm beneath his. She had touched his hands before to tend to his wounds, and at that point Lancelot had thought that that moment was intimate, but this felt different, _enticingly_ _dangerous_. Ari glanced away slowly, needing to break away from the fire reflecting in his blue gaze.

Lancelot knew that he was staring but he couldn’t break away from her. He felt bad for ambushing her in the way that he had done earlier, for implying that she enjoyed committing murder. He could see some of her guilt still written across her face.

“I did not intend to suggest you did not care,” he said quietly, the flame above his hand still burning between them, “I know that is not true.” That low husk of his dragged Ari’s eyes back up to him. His voice was unexpectedly warm and soothing, a quality which is dangerous to have in a murderer, especially one so alluring as him. She pursed her lips gently, acknowledging his apology.

The air around them shifted. Ari felt whatever was forming between them, at least on her part, and it terrified her. His eyes, _that look_ which he gives her tearing away at her edges. A breeze drifted gently against her skin and through her hair and she heard the whispers it carried. Ari realised she had been holding his hand unnecessarily for a little too long and pulled her own away slowly from under his, taking a deep breath in and out as she let the flame sit above his skin. It was strange, fire and water mixing so easily.

At the loss of contact Lancelot let himself look away at the embers. He had known fire for all of his life but never before had it not scared him. He was surprised at how openly Ari would use her powers around him, if anything she should be hiding them from him, _the Weeping Monk_. Ari gave him a moment to get comfortable with the flame and watched as he lowered his arm to rest his elbow against his knee for support. Lancelot did not mess with it like the child was doing, he knew better than to play with fire.

Ari pursed her lips, how she had not combusted beneath his gaze before he turned his eyes away she did not know. Then she had an idea. She leaned to the side and scooped up some snow into her hands, _if I am going to test my powers the he can too._ Lancelot’s face changed as his eyes drifted up to her from the flame, wondering what she was doing. Then she held the pile of snow up over his open hand.

“Put it out,” she said, motioning her eyes towards the flame. 

Lancelot hesitated, his body stiffened as he remembered what exactly he was. He had not used his powers for days, he didn’t even know what he was doing with it. Some part of his mind told him he should not use them, _its sinful_. Ari tilted her head subtly.

“You'll have to learn how to control it _somehow,_ ” she said lightly. It’s unfortunate, but most Fey were thrown in at the deep end when it came to their powers, Lancelot would be no different.

He looked at her, she was right. He gave into the Fey within him and reluctantly moved his free hand that was resting on his other knee, pushing his fingers into the pile of snow she held. It had begun to melt with the heat of the small flame but not by much. Squirrel turned to watch them as he noticed their movement, still playing with the fire above his own hand.

“Remember what I told you,” Ari said quietly and Lancelot’s eyes flicked to her.

Beside the brook at Zurah’s cottage, she had said to think of something that makes him happy, something to _centre back to_. At the brook he had thought of the boy, but tonight he just looked at her. Her golden eyes warmly gazing back at him, cutting through the chilling air. His heart tugged a little as he felt something new flowing through his veins. The cold snow numbed at his fingertips and his stained tears pricked on the skin of his face. Ari saw his realm marks glow faintly, emphasised no doubt by the moonlight. Squirrel gasped and shuffled over to them as the snow melted to water quickly within Ari’s hands, trickling down between her fingers and palms which she separated to let the water fall over the flame. They all watched down as the small flame slowly dampened away to nothing with a quiet hiss, leaving a faint dusting of ash which fell into his palm.

“What in the Hidden?” Squirrel gaped up at Lancelot like he had done the evening before, when he had discovered that the man can read in both Latin and their own tongue.

“You didn’t know?” Ari’s brows furrowed as she brushed her wet hands against her trousers, turning towards to Squirrel.

“You’re a water Fey,” the boy stated the obvious, he had never met a water Fey before. Squirrel went to move his hands to grasp onto Lancelot’s outstretched fingers, forgetting about his own flame. The adults flinched as the boy moved quickly and Ari had to react faster than she had ever done to put out the flame. Squirrel looked deeply confused as she tugged him away from Lancelot.

“ _Do not do that again,_ ” she scolded the boy harshly like a protective mother, gripping onto his wrists.

The child looked offended and slightly scared by her tone, “But you said it wouldn’t burn-”

“I said it wouldn’t burn _you,_ ” she emphasised frustratedly, “I gave it to _you,_ Squirrel, so it would not burn _you_ but it could have hurt him,” she said sharply. Her eyes widened angrily at the child, “Fire is dangerous, Squirrel.”

“You think I don’t know that!” The boy raised his voice into her face, getting up onto his feet as he teared his hands from hers. Lancelot felt the bile rise in his throat. The boy had known hell fire, and it was because of him. Ari opened her mouth but Squirrel looked at her angrily before storming off.

“Squirrel!” She shouted at him as he got further away, rising to her own feet.

“Don’t,” Lancelot stopped her as he too got up. Ari turned quickly to him, eyes ablaze that he was letting the boy get further away from them.

“I’ll go,” he exhaled, “there’s something I should have spoken to him about by now anyway.” Ari did not ask for she had an inkling that she already knew.

~•~

Lancelot followed the boy’s footsteps in the snow, the imprints reflecting in the moonlight until they stopped. The trail disappeared and Lancelot feared for the worst, but then he heard a sob and looked up to where the boy was curled up on a thick branch. Lancelot recognised that the boy was crying and reminded himself that Squirrel was just a child who had been through more than most adults had done in their lifetimes.

“Why are you in a tree?” He asked lightly, trying to get the boy to talk.

“I’m a _squirrel_ , remember.” The boy replied in between a few whimpers.

“Would you come down, please?”

Squirrel did not respond, so Lancelot waited, sitting down on the root of the tree whilst the boy cried for his family and friends, the ones who he had lost as Dewdenn burned. The home which _he_ had burned.

Lancelot saw Ari in the distance following the snowy footprints. He caught her eye and gestured his finger up towards the canopy above. Ari opened her mouth but closed it again, nodding before turning away. The boy spoke up eventually after his sobs had died down to nothing. He knew that Lancelot was there, waiting patiently for him below.

“Why didn’t you say you have powers?”

Lancelot tilted his head, “It's a new thing,” he replied to the tiny voice from above. Silence came and a moment later, Squirrel began to shuffle down from the tree, leaving Lancelot a little shook at the boy’s ability. He landed at the man’s side.

“You alright?” Lancelot asked looking up at the child. Squirrel nodded.

“Your arse cold?” The boy smirked. The question made Lancelot huff out an unexpected chuckle as his mouth crooked upwards. He pushed up off of the tree and gestured his head for the boy to follow him back towards their camp. The pair walked beside each other as they retraced their steps, Squirrel’s tiny feet reaching between Lancelot’s large footprints he left earlier in the snow. Lancelot noticed the boy’s action as he leaped from foot to foot. He didn’t mind, so long as these were the only footprints of his that the young boy followed in.

“I should have told you something weeks ago,” Lancelot started, gathering his thoughts together.

“What’s that?” Squirrel asked casually as he continued to jump between the footprints.

“That I am sorry,” he stopped the boy with a hand on his shoulder, he dropped it as soon as Squirrel faced him. “For your home, _for Dewdenn_. And, _everything else..._ ” he trailed off, he was not good at this but he was learning.

Squirrel could see it in his face and hear it in his voice that he meant it. He already knew that Lancelot was sorry but he just hadn’t admitted it, not to him anyway.

“You should be,” the boy teased. Ari was clearly rubbing off on him.

Lancelot narrowed his eyes at the boy, “I am trying to apologise.”

The boy shrugged, “You have. And I forgive you. Though, I still think you’re an ugly lump but you saved my life so,” the boy shrugged again, “now can we move on? My arse is getting cold too.”

Lancelot did not know what to say, or even what to think as he walked to catch up with the child which didn’t take long. Forgiveness for his sins against them should not be that easy, the boy shrugged it off too quickly.

“So,” the boy began slowly, finding another opportunity to playfully annoy the man, “how’s things going? Should I give you two more time alone or?” Lancelot’s hand came from under his cloak and tapped Squirrel gently on the back of the head. The boy chuckled and the sound warmed Lancelot’s healing heart. He didn’t know what the boy was getting at with these things.

“Okay, okay,” Squirrel conceded, shoving back at Lancelot’s arm. They carried on for a few paces further and were almost back to their little camp.

“You should apologise to Ari. You scared her.” Lancelot said to the boy.

Squirrel sighed, “I know, I will.” He hung his head defeatedly. His action earlier or rather, lack of thinking, was reckless and he was ashamed of it.

“Squirrel,” Lancelot stopped the boy and turned him towards him, keeping his hand on his shoulder this time. “You know the consequences of fire,” he began seriously, “don’t ever mistreat it.”

Squirrel’s lips pursed to one side. “Like you did?” He asked sheepishly, a little afraid of pushing too far. Lancelot nodded slowly, his own voice lowering.

“And I regret it,” Lancelot swallowed thickly, “I don’t want you to have the same regret.” _I don't want you to end up like me._

Squirrel sighed quietly and put his hand onto Lancelot’s arm between them, “Okay.” He understood what the former monk was trying to tell him.

Ari turned at the sound of them coming back. She had soothed the horses and made sure that they were okay whilst she was waiting. Squirrel trotted over to her, looping his arms around her neck from behind.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to her as his chin rested against her shoulder. She smiled softly, patting his forearm across her chest.

“It’s okay,” she said. The boy released her, coming around her to sit by the fire. He wrapped himself back up within the blanket he had discarded and settled down by her side. Ari glanced over her shoulder at Lancelot, who simply nodded with contempt.

~•~

Squirrel was soon snoring into Ari’s side. She pulled him closer, wrapping him further beneath the blankets and what she could manage of her cloak. Lancelot saw how the boy curled into her stomach, her slightly tense reaction reminding him of her injury from the morning.

“How is your pain?” He asked quietly, trying not to disturb the sleeping child. He broke the reverence of whatever world she was lost in.

“Hmm?” Ari’s head lifted up to him and she suddenly looked more awake.

“Your stomach,” he gestured weakly towards her.

She looked down and back up to him, “It's not bad. I’ve had worse,” she brushed off her injury, the pain had subsided considerably. She had checked it when Lancelot went after Squirrel, a black bruise forming nicely below her ribs. It wasn’t as large as she had expected it to be, she’d just had the wind knocked out of her more than anything.

Lancelot nodded, glad that she wasn’t hurting too badly, though he figured that she was probably downplaying the seriousness, he usually did that with his own wounds. He didn’t want to know what Ari had meant by _I’ve had worse_. He turned his attention back to their small fire and buried himself a little further into his cloak.Ari glanced at him staring at the fire a few times before she gathered the courage to speak.

“Can I ask you something?” After their conversation from the night before and how he had been distant today, she wanted to make sure that he was okay. Her brows pinched together, “You don’t have to answer but-”

“What is it?” He said a little more pointedly than he had meant to, the cold was getting to his bones and it annoyed him. Ari took note of his tone. She had started the question so she had to finish it, _carefully_. Something had been playing on her mind since the night they spent in Yvoire. She took a breath, keeping her voice hushed softly.

“You said that it wasn’t Carden who hurt you,” she paused, gauging his reaction which did not change, “it was you, wasn’t it?” She had a feeling that perhaps his wounds were by his own hand, the angles and positionings of the cuts and scars seemed about right.Ari felt her own heart breaking as Lancelot stiffened, unknowingly giving her the answer to her question. His eyes drifted a little towards her then moved to somehow turn further away from her gaze as they hardened. Ari bit her lip, recognising that she’d hit an open nerve. Perhaps it was a mistake to ask, it was too intrusive for whatever stage of their relationship that this was. It was personal, and he probably didn’t want to talk about it. She tried to give him a way out, she wouldn’t make him open up about this unless he wanted to.

“I won’t ask you to talk about it, you don’t have to. I will not ask you to expl-”

“It was punishment.” He caught her off guard with his response and she tensed, she had not expected him to be so direct. She quickly looked down at Squirrel to make sure that he was still asleep, then looked back up.

Lancelot did not know why he told her. Despite some of the things that had happened between them, he felt safe with her. They had had their disagreements and heated words but they had worked through them together, he’d never had that before. And now there was something in her presence, her voice, that he knew he could confide in. The fire crackled, filling the air between them. 

“Punishment?” Ari treaded carefully, her voice laced with concern. She wanted to move closer, to be nearer to him but perhaps he didn’t want it, and the child in her lap was keeping her rooted in place anyway.

“I humiliated Father Carden. I had to atone for my sin against him.” Lancelot kept his face turned away from her, as if he were ashamed to admit it. That was the way it had always been with Carden, the reason why he had learned to keep his mouth shut. But on that day he had opened it, he had spoken out of turn to defend the boy and it had gotten him nowhere and nothing but pain. His back itched beneath his shirt as a reminder of what he had done.

Ari’s brows came together but not unkindly, it seemed like an excessive way of atoning to her. She did not understand the church’s obsession with pain, judging by what she had seen before there were many old and new scars patterning across his back, she had guessed then that this was a somewhat regular occurrence. The thought made her insides turn upside down and twist around. She kept quiet, giving Lancelot space to breathe and let the words flow if he wanted them to, he did not have to talk to her. Somehow the silence between them was not uncomfortable, the air was not thick and tension was nonexistent. Lancelot looked over slowly to the sleeping child in Ari’s arms, the one he had tried to save.

“I tried to stop them from hurting him.” He clarified, ashamed of how he had failed in stopping his brothers from taking the boy to Brother Salt. His eyes begged him to close them to keep it all inside.Lancelot looked lost, Ari wanted to reach out but she couldn’t, afraid of the boundary between them being moved by something so deeply personal such as this. He would not meet her eyes and that was okay.

“Did Carden command you?” Ari tried to be sensitive to his past, his relationship with Father Carden was complex and she only knew the surface of it. She was learning slowly how to be gentle with him, but these things were hardly ever talked about. She wasn’t sure that she was approaching this topic correctly, _his pain_ , she didn't want him to retreat further away from her.

“The church commands it,” Lancelot corrected her, though she was not entirely wrong. “Pain of the flesh cleanses the soul from sin,” he parroted the teaching quietly, fists squeezing shut. His own pain, which he had caused by his own hand. He remembers every single time it happened, sometimes commanded and sometimes by his own choice. How could he ever forget?

Ari bit down onto her cheek, she knew it was a lie, something used to whip the church’s followers into obedience. She didn’t have the heart to tell him he was wrong, that if his God was truly good then he would not demand such pain. She couldn’t imagine what went through Lancelot's mind that told him he was right to do such things to himself, although some part of her deep within understood. Squirrel stirred within her arms and she waited for him to settle again before she spoke. Ari found herself wanting to reassure him that he needn’t hurt himself anymore in the name of the church, that she would not allow the Fey to demand such things of him. She would not command it either.

“Do you still feel like you want to? _To cleanse_?” Ari spoke without judgement in her tone, she refused to judge him. She didn’t even know half of what he’d been through.

He looked to Ari, anchoring his sight in the kindness in her eyes. He searched her for the judgement that people usually threw at him but he could not find any, he thought he saw what was called compassion. She made him feel safe, and somewhere within him he knew that he would not be asked to commit the actions that Carden had demanded of him again.

“Sometimes,” Lancelot said just loud enough for Ari to hear, shifting slightly in the snow. He had not felt the need since the day he had learnt that Carden had died, when he screamed and lashed out beneath the moonlight. His fingers pulled back to his chest absentmindedly and touched to where his amulet lay beneath his clothes, “I am learning not to.” He was learning to not want the pain, it was not necessary. He pursed his lips into some kind of sad, shallow smile. It wasn’t much but Ari noticed it.

“I’m glad,” she said earnestly, returning a genuine shallow smile of her own. His answer had told her that he knew he wouldn’t be asked to act like that again. They had sat comfortably for a few minutes when Lancelot’s voice reached her once more.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

Ari opened her eyes, not quite sure if she had heard him correctly or if it was just her mind. She swivelled her head slowly to look at him and he was already watching her. _How long had he been looking at her?_

“For what?”

Lancelot swallowed thickly, “For giving me a chance.”

He had not counted on being alive at this point. He had not known who’s camp he was riding into with Squirrel that day, he had expected whoever was there to shelter the boy but he did not expect to receive the same treatment. He remembered looking up at her as she stood by his feet, proclaiming mercy to her people and that he would live. He was bloody and bruised, twinging in pain but he watched her stand tall. He remembers her eyes as they turned down to him, the fires that he saw in them in that moment. _I am giving you this one chance_ , she had said, but she hadn’t. _She’d given him many chances,_ sheltered him, calmed him, cleaned his wounds, helped him start to understand his powers. She talked with him, found patience with him, accepted him even with his faults. There was little he could think of that would repay her for her generosity, but maybe that’s just who she was. She had not asked for anything in return.

Ari felt her heart chip at the edges, there was nothing to thank her for. The Hidden had told her to let Lancelot live and she had obeyed them, it was them who truly gave him the chance but he must not have known this. She nodded at him and he turned away back to the fire once more.

It was not long before Lancelot got up and paced around the camp quietly, trying to keep the blood flowing through his system. Ari saw how he shivered in the crisp night air as he walked around.

“Didn’t I say that you’d get cold,” she stated with an amused undertone, trying to bring back the light in his eyes as her own followed him. He smirked at her dryly and was clearly unamused, _she did say that you would get cold_.

“It’s warmer over here,” she gestured her chin to where her and the boy were curled up closer to the fire, resting against a thick tree. Lancelot just watched her as his cold hands ran over each other.

“We might as well stick together,” Ari said figuratively. She shifted to get more comfortable, joking quietly, “Can't have you _freezing_ to death in the night.”

Lancelot clenched his jaw briefly, she’d convinced him of staying close to them before. He stopped the tracks he was making and came closer, sitting down beside her against the tree as close as he dared. Ari readjusted Squirrel slightly in her lap, trying not to wake him, and offered the blanket which was around her towards him.

Lancelot knew that this right here was the closest he had ever been to breaking his vows, more so than when they had slept in the barn, and the thought didn’t completely terrify him. He knew that nothing would happen but just the proximity was enough for him to get a little anxious. He took what she was offering graciously and it just about covered over his lower half which was pulled up against him. He felt the warmth from her radiating towards him already, her scent lingering in the fibres of the blanket.

“Sleep,” he said, offering to take first watch. “I’ll wake you in a few hours.”

Ari agreed with him as she already felt her eyelids closing and curled herself back into the tree, pulling the wraps over Squirrel for one last time before she shut her eyes completely.

Lancelot sat in silence and watched the fire, he tensed when he felt something in the air, something familiar. _A scent_ , it came and went quickly but it made Lancelot anxious just the same. He looked down at the pair asleep next to him and shuffled beneath the blanket, careful not to nudge Ari at his side, uncovering himself enough to draw out his sword and brace it down near to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has gone past 1000 hits which I never expected, thank you guys so much for reading! I was really worried about some parts of this one so please let me know what you think? I doubt that I use the right words sometimes.  
> This chapter was me basically pushing the limit of ‘how many conversations could they possibly have in one evening?’ I had said that their relationship was not linear, and this is definitely an example of that. But no matter how they test each other, they will always come back.  
> We're so close to where things start to get really interesting... you may hurt but trust me, it is worth it.


	16. purpose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected problem occurs and Lancelot doubts what his future might look like, if he even has a future at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW/ none for this one, if you think that there should be then please let me know.  
> Comments are always greatly appreciated x

[[Moodboard](https://captainbucky-yt.tumblr.com/post/642590541348995072/youre-not-what-i-was-looking-for)]

Fresh snow did not come the next morning, and Ari had woken a couple of hours before daylight. Lancelot was stubborn as he pushed for her to go back to sleep, but Ari was more determined and won their quiet argument without waking Squirrel. Lancelot put his head back and rested beside her against the tree for a few hours. It looked uncomfortable, and Ari questioned how he could sleep in that practically upright position and she doubted if he was actually sleeping at all. She noticed his sword unsheathed on the ground by his side and wondered if something had happened in the night without her knowing.

When everyone was awake they ate what was left over from the day before as the existing snow around them settled in the morning frost.

Ari found herself stood bored beside the readied horses, waiting for Squirrel and Lancelot to get back from going about their business in the trees. She played with her dagger in her hand absentmindedly whilst she waited, feeling its familiar weight and balance. It was a strange thing to bring comfort to a person but it did to her. She closed her eyes and breathed in, sensing the air and the earth around her awakening with the morning light, hearing the snowdrops fall to the ground as they melted off of the trees. She let the world go silent so that her ears were filled with nothing but her own breaths. Her hand came up to her shoulder and then forward swiftly, releasing the blade from her grasp. A second later she heard the recognisable thud of sharp steel meeting wood and smiled to herself. When Ari opened her eyes though, her smile faded and she was not prepared for what she had almost done.

Lancelot glared at her and a brief feeling of danger rushed through Ari’s body. He turned his head to the blade next to his face and pulled it out of where it had embedded in the bark of the tree he had walked beside. Ari swallowed thickly, one unexpected breath of wind and she could have easily hurt or killed either of them. Lancelot turned and began to stalk towards her slowly, his eyes cast down to examine her dagger in his hand. Ari thought that this is what it must have felt like to be one of his victims, to be preyed upon by the mass of threatening darkness taking his menacing time.

“Are you trying to be off with my head, your highness?” Lancelot asked, voice gruff from the night’s sleep. He rotated the blade carefully between his fingers at either end as if it were his own.

 _Your highness_ , Ari didn’t too often like being called by that title, but something in the gravel of his voice made her start to change her mind. She could not see the gentle smirk on his face for it was hidden by his hood, but she heard the unfamiliar playful undertone in his voice. Was he teasing her? She crossed her arms over her chest casually as his footsteps in yesterday's snow came closer.

“I can think of better ways to do it,” Ari replied, a dark playfulness of her own hidden within her words. Lancelot looked up to her then as he stopped before her. He wasn’t angry, if anything he was impressed. Ari did indeed have skill to rival his own, she had proven that already. Lancelot flipped her dagger in one hand and caught the flat of the blade in his palm, then he held it out to her at arm's length. Ari reached for the hilt and reclaimed her dagger as they exchanged a knowing smirk.

“That was great!” Squirrel came barrelling towards them, “Can you teach me how to do that?” He looked up to Ari, wide eyed. 

“No, Squirrel,” she laughed lightly as she tucked the blade away at her hip. Even though she had learned young, she wanted Squirrel to keep whatever innocence he could for now. 

“But it would be so much fun if I could-”

Ari’s face and tone fell seriously, “Blades are not for fun, Squirrel. If the wind had changed, I could have killed you.” Her eyes hardened on him and he seemed to get the message. 

Squirrel dropped his expression defeatedly at her put down. He kicked at the dirt, mumbling something about how _nobody ever lets him do things_ and began shuffling towards the horses. Ari waited for a moment whilst Squirrel wobbled away then edged closer to Lancelot, shaking her head apologetically.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise that you were there.” She was picking at her thumbnail but she didn’t realise it. 

“It was a good aim,” he acknowledged her, forearms crossed lazily to rest over the hilt of his sword.

“Was that a compliment I just heard?” Ari blinked up at him, the gentle smirk creeping back onto her face. She shifted to lean on one leg as her head inclined in the same direction. Lancelot seemed to have settled back into himself this morning, as had she. Her horse whinnied behind her as if to tell her to hurry up but she didn’t break her hold on him. 

Lancelot rolled his eyes gently at that look she was giving him again, the look the he didn’t know what to do with. He started to move around her, cloak trailing behind him.

“Don't push it,” he quipped quietly. It was a bold move to tease the Fey queen but he did it anyway, mimicking her tone. He glanced down at her gaping up at him as he moved past her side before lifting his eyes to his horse, the smirk still evident and growing across his face. He was starting to explore his new freedom with his voice and his words, as speaking his thoughts aloud was not something he had so often been allowed to do without consequences. He liked pushing her buttons though he knew that he probably shouldn’t.

Ari pushed out a laugh at his novel confidence and mild insolence and turned to mount her horse. She was not offended, she was impressed. The playful side of him was new to her but perhaps it had always been there, restrained and tamed deep within him. _It suits him,_ she thought. He was not the only man who has spoken to her this way but he was the only one who had made her uncharacteristically nervous when he did. She pushed the feeling away and got up onto her horse.

~•~

They soon left their camp to canter through the forest and out into the rolling fields, but they quickly came across a problem. A village was sat unexpectedly over the other side of the hill they were walking on. They did not know if it was a human or Fey settlement, and were too close to turn back, for they had already been seen.

Ari cursed under her breath as the eyes of villagers turned to them, three cloaked figures on the ridge of the hill. They had no other route, passing through this village surrounded by dense grassland was necessary. Ari took a breath and coaxed Dusty down the hill. Lancelot was not so eager to approach the village, he hadn’t yet worked out what they were facing.

“You there!” An older gentleman called over to them.

“Keep your head down,” Ari warned Lancelot as she watched the man walk as best as he could towards them, using a long stick as a staff and crutch. She walked her horse forward further so that the elderly man didn’t have to move as far. It was not long until they were almost at the edge of the fence marking the village boundary.

“You, you cannot be here,” the man called between breaths, “this is my land you are tress-tress-tress-pass-ing,” his voice slowed to a snail’s pace as he finally got to them. His eyes widened and Ari didn’t know which of them the man was alarmed by the most.

“Your highness,” the elder bowed his head, recognising Ari from beneath her lowering hood, “my apologies, my eyes are not as young as they once were.” Ari visibly relaxed as he identified himself as Fey, Sky folk, settling the hood back around her shoulders.

“That’s quite alright,” Ari said, carrying herself in the saddle like the queen she was. Lancelot saw the shift in her, he was beginning to recognise it well.

“I need to pass through your fields,” Ari addressed him. The village belonged to her people, the Fey, though she had not recognised it. She visits as many of her villages as she can but she must have missed this one.

“Why yes, of course. Who are your companions?” The man shuffled sideways on his feet curiously to get a better look.

“They are not your concern, sir.” Ari was stern, but not harsh, trying to direct the elder’s attention away. The man fumbled a step closer and Ari gently nudged Dusty to obscure his view of Squirrel and Lancelot behind her, but it was too late. The elder Fey gripped onto his staff and with a sudden fit of strength, brought it before him and stood tall, pointing it towards Lancelot. Other villagers noticed what was happening and stepped forwards from their huts, most with sticks like the elder’s but some with actual weapons.

“My lady, you know who it is that you travel with?” The weathered man eyed Lancelot pointedly, who was doing his best to hide his face away under his hood behind the boy. Ari remembered that herself and Squirrel were the only ones who truly knew Lancelot in these lands, who understood fully that he was no danger to the Fey anymore.

“There is no threat to you or your people sir, lower your staff,” she spoke more strongly than before but remained respectful, hoping that she would win her some kind of respect in return.

Lancelot began to grow impatient as the man stared him down, he knew that this was going to happen everywhere that they went. The mark beneath his hood itched under where his hair had begun to grow back around it. Thinking that he would just cut right to the chase, he dismounted from Goliath. Ari’s head turned quickly over her shoulder at the sound of his boots landing in the dirt. He stepped to be beside Ari, unsheathing his sword which caused panic on several of the villagers faces. Lancelot threw his trusted steel down flat at the elder’s feet confidently, his own face betraying nothing.

Ari watched on anxiously at the bold gesture, her mind questioned if the Ash man would reveal his true heritage or not.

“Born in the dawn,” Lancelot said earnestly to the elder Fey. He saw how the man’s face changed, watched as his mouth dropped open and his the elder’s breaths shook. The grip on his pointed staff loosened, eyes turning over to Ari, pleading for answers.

“Things have changed, sir,” she said respectfully, “ _the Weeping Monk_ is not to be feared by you or I any longer.” _He is one of us._

The elder swallowed thickly, turning to the villagers who were listening, they all shared his same concerned expression at the discovery that _the Weeping Monk_ is indeed Fey. He turned back to Lancelot, looking him up and down and then straight in the eyes. Them weeping eyes.

Ari shifted in her saddle and tried to help the exchange along smoothly, “You know who I am. All I ask is for your trust.” She saw the man’s eyes flick to her and back to Lancelot quickly as he considered her. The elder Fey swallowed again after a few moments, puffing out his chest. He lowered his staff back down to his side.

“To pass in the twilight,” he responded albeit reluctantly, looking at Lancelot directly. Lancelot let out the breath that he was holding, hands twitching by his side as he was now unsure of what to do with himself. The man gave Lancelot one more threatening glance over before his attention turned to Ari, “I knew of your father, your Grace. He was a good king. I can see him in you now.”

Ari pursed her lips, “Thank you.” Ari knew that the elder had yielded but she was still cautious of him, feeling a lingering tension in the air which was only to be expected.

Lancelot stepped forward and started to bend to pick his sword up off of the ground, but before his hand could reach it the elder’s staff stabbed into the dirt between him and the weapon. He looked up through his eyelashes sharply.

“You may have this back when you leave,” the elder said dryly, eyeing Lancelot like he was dirt. Lancelot bent back upright and gave a shallow, stiff nod. He glanced up at Ari as he turned to walk back and take hold of Goliath’s reins. He did not like not having his sword by his side, it made him feel exposed, _vulnerable_ , though he knew that he did not necessarily need a sword to dispatch a threat.

Something didn’t sit well within Lancelot as they walked through the village. The Fey scent was here but something was off, it didn’t feel right. The energy in the air prickled at his skin, it felt like a warning. His knuckles whitened around Goliath’s reins as he kept his feet moving forwards and his eyes down through the village. They moved slowly behind the elder as he hobbled along. A younger Fey carried Lancelot’s sword as the elder escorted them through. The eyes of the villagers watched them suspiciously but they bowed lightly to Ari when she passed.

Ari couldn’t remember a time when Fey had observed her warily like this, still she rode her horse with her head held high. She could hear the villagers muttering _the weeping monk_ between themselves and knew that if she could hear them then Lancelot definitely could. She dared to glance back and she could tell he was biting down his frustration.

Squirrel leant forward in Goliath’s saddle to reach Lancelot’s ear, tapping him once on the shoulder, “Do you think they have food?” 

Lancelot sighed, he looked around subtly at the huts and down the paths. He noticed a baker’s house just off of the trail that they were walking along, and pulled Goliath back at the bit to a halt. The boy was right in his thinking that they should probably buy something for them to take with them, it was easier than hunting. Lancelot reached his hand back and took out a couple of coins from the saddle bag. Ari’s head turned to look back as she heard the jangling of the silver, she saw Lancelot halt Goliath in the path before he walked away.

“What is he doing?” The elder asked her bitterly.

 _I’m not sure_ , Ari thought, but didn’t voice an answer. She motioned her horse over to stand where the paths crossed. Lancelot was talking to a woman about his age and her mother, Ari presumed, his hand held out with the silver between his fingers. The younger woman looked a little frightened but eventually handed him a cloth bound package whilst the mother took the coin. Lancelot kept his face low and nodded, muttered something to them and then turned on his heels to walk back to his horse.

“Bread,” he said almost silently as he came past Ari. She moved her horse back onto the main path to follow the elder as Lancelot stuffed the cloth wrapped loaf into Goliath’s saddle bag and took the reins once more to pull the horse forwards.

They came to the edge of the Fey’s lands and the elder opened the makeshift wooden fence to let them pass through. The younger Fey eyed Lancelot as he handed the monk back his sword. Lancelot sheathed it at his waist and went to get back onto his horse behind Squirrel.

“I would greatly value your discretion,” Ari said to the elder as Lancelot mounted next to her, “know that there is no need to be concerned about what is happening, where we are going.”

“Yes, of course, your grace.” The elder bowed his head shallowly and stood back out of their way.

Ari nodded affirmatively at the Fey and glanced over to check that the others were ready. Lancelot nodded in response as he adjusted his reins and soon they were off again towards the woodland.

~•~

They came back into the heart of the forest and found themselves almost running parallel to the River Wren which they were sure to meet by sundown. After an hour or two they slowed down to give the horses a break, dismounting and walking on foot for a while. Ari’s new bruise beneath her ribs ached gently, _annoyingly_ , and she was glad to be walking again because of it.

“Do all Fey know who you are?” Squirrel asked Ari from down between her side and Lancelot’s.

“Most, probably. _You didn’t._ ” She poked at the boy’s side.

“I did!” He argued but even he didn’t sound too convinced. He remembers when he first saw her, cantering into her camp with blood over her clothes and a deer slung over her horse’s rear. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little afraid of her back then.

Ari chuckled gently, “It's alright. I might be one of the Fey’s best kept secrets.” She nudged the boy with her elbow and brought her index finger to rest against her lips which made him laugh.

“Good job those bloody Paladins didn’t know who you are,” Squirrel spat out, kicking at a stone and toeing it off into the distance.

Ari’s head turned slowly so that she could see Lancelot’s face on the other side of the boy, the former _bloody Paladin_ as Squirrel always put it. He felt her looking at him and already knew the question that was on her mind, their ability to communicate without words was somewhat of a developing matter.

“There were rumours,” Lancelot said quietly to answer her unspoken question, “they stopped a while ago.” He never knew why the rumours of Sunborns still being alive had stopped, but they did, and he never knew quite how to feel about it. He knew his life before the church had something to do with them, and some part of him felt like he had seen one long ago before Ari, but the memory was very hazy and he wasn’t sure. It was likely just his mind playing tricks on him.

“Did you believe them?” Squirrel asked, also turning his head around to the man beside him.

“Not completely,” Lancelot shook his head stiffly. He had thought maybe it was true, that there were still royal Fey in existence. There were parts that made sense about the rumours but many vague details that didn’t. 

“What did you doubt?” Ari asked, her eyes still watching him as she led Dusty along. Lancelot hesitated for a moment but gave her the honest answer.

“That the Paladins had allowed survivors,” Lancelot did not mean for his voice to sound as harsh as it did. He would not meet her eyes, gripping tighter onto Goliath’s reins. It felt like a betrayal to say such a thing, though he didn’t know who exactly he was betraying by it.

“You mean my parents?” Ari deadpanned, tugging Dusty away from the evergreen leafy bush he was attempting to bite onto.

Squirrel looked up between the two of them, forehead pinching as he was trying to work out what details he was missing. _How much of their lives have they talked about without me and when did they have time to do it?_

Lancelot sighed but he did not respond, they both knew that she was right.

“They spared _you_ ,” she said after a moment and it was almost bitter. Why should he have been allowed to live but not them?

“For a purpose,” Lancelot responded flatly, and with that word, _purpose_ , he silenced her. His life was not spared so that he could be free. His life was spared so he would conform and mould into the avenging sword of light, a scape goat for the Paladins to blame for their failures, a weapon to kill his own kind.

Ari conceded, drawing her eyes back to the road. Lancelot had indeed been spared because of what he could do, not because somebody cared enough about him to want him to live. Ari had spared his life too, but not for such a cruel reason as the Paladins had.

They stopped walking and Ari pressed her unbound palm to a tree to help find a brook or river for the horses to drink. The earth’s energy flooded up from the ground through the roots, the trunk and into her hand, tingling her skin as her markings ached. Lancelot watched on and wondered what it felt like, what exactly Ari experienced running through her when she used her powers this way.

She searched for the feeling of a riverbed being moved along by the water it held, eyes glazing over as the earth told her where to find what she was seeking. They had to divert their route slightly but Ari found them a shallow stream not too far away.

~•~

Ari sat on a fairly dry rock with a leg bent up whilst Lancelot waited, leaning his shoulder against a tree. Squirrel insisted on taking the horses to the stream, and so the pair of adults waited patiently as they watched over him. Lancelot tried to see if he could sense anything in the air, an animal that they could hunt to eat later, but he couldn’t find what he was looking for.

Ari tilted her head back and stared up into the overcast sky, all she does is think. Think of the past, of the future, of her mistakes. What she could have done differently, what she will do differently. Ari was somewhat of an over-thinker by habit, _she had to be_ , it was an unfortunate downfall which came with her responsibility. She was always one step ahead of the rest. Sometimes the thoughts in her mind get so crossed that she has to just stop, but the feeling of the earth rushing through her veins doesn’t make that easy for her. Right now her thoughts raced around _him_ , the mystery of a Fey man before her. The more she learned, the more her mind spoke to itself and the more she tried to fit his pieces together. On the outside she was cool and still but on the inside she was a raging sea. That’s why she felt connected to him, _to Lancelot_ , they shared this in so many ways. They understood each other whether they both knew it or not, perhaps one could say that they were kindred spirits of sorts. The more she thought about it, the more she dug herself into a hole, not knowing how she should think of him or even how to get him off of her mind.

Ari rubbed her hand across her chin, what Lancelot had said about being spared for a purpose had been replaying through her mind. She realised that he might be thinking that he no longer has a reason to exist, and that was a dangerous thought to have in a man like him. She glanced up at him, at his figure so tense and still, composed but raging on the inside just like her. He was always so upright and Ari thought it perhaps a consequence of his hardened scars pulling his body to stay still this way, and as she looked at him now she felt sorry for him. He would not appreciate her pity but she couldn’t help it. Her words came from her mouth abruptly as she forgot to disconnect her voice from her jumbling mind.

“I think its shows great courage, to do what you did,” she spoke up from the rock a couple of paces beside him. Lancelot frowned as he kept watch of Squirrel with the horses, courage was not something he would claim to possess.

Ari carried on, “To walk away from all you’ve ever known and into uncertainty.” She shrugged nonchalantly, turning her face up to him, “I don’t think that I could do what you have.” Lancelot turned his eyes down to her, an eyebrow beginning to raise. “In _that_ respect,” she added for clarification, tilting her head slightly. She couldn’t have done what he had in the _other_ respect either, but she wasn’t going to go there. 

Lancelot remembered kneeling, bleeding before the altar on the day that his life changed. _Do you have the will, my son?_ He knew that he didn’t, _yes father._

Lancelot’s eyes drifted up and away from her, a look of remorse spreading across his face as he thought about what she had said. She was determined to make him believe that he was actually worth something when he knew he wasn’t.

“It was not courage,” he said as he looked out to the distance, back over towards Squirrel with the horses by the stream. He did not want praise for anything that he had done in his life.

“Then what was it?” Ari frowned, looking at him questioningly. If it were not courage then what? Did he not see the bravery in his actions that day when he left the Paladins with Squirrel? She knew that he understands how difficult it is to leave a life behind, she’s watched him fight with it right before her eyes. Lancelot’s face did not look like he was going to answer her so Ari began to turn away.

“Weakness,” he said lowly, unexpectedly after a moment. The frown that Ari had kept deepened.

“Lancelot.” She said his name to coax him back to her, which he did. She shook her head, disputing his claim of weakness. “It was courage,” she reassured him again. “You chose the hard option to help Squirrel when you could have done nothing.” His eyes cast over her face warily, as if he didn’t believe what she was saying.

“That does not change what I have done,” his voice dropped.

“No, no it doesn’t” her lips pulled together as she casted her face away, fiddling with the leather around her palm. “You’re a good person who was lost, Lancelot. But you are on the right path now.” Her voice quietened to a gentle tone reserved for very few people, a voice in which she was using more and more these days.

It was not forgiveness, his previous actions against the Fey would always be salt in a wound for her. But now that she knew more about him, about the life he had been forced into and the way his mind had been twisted, she could accept that what was done was done, and she could try to make it right for her people.

Lancelot blinked back as her ease with her words surprised him. It was something he was learning about her, that she was not afraid to say what she wanted to, at least to him anyway. He scanned her turned away face for something, _anything_ , but all he saw was her shied kindness. He knew he was not a good person, did she really see him as one? After everything that he had done? 

“A path to where?” Lancelot tilted himself subconsciously towards her, voice laced with disappointment, “there is no purpose for me now.” That was one thing that he had liked about the scriptures, they gave you direction, a road to walk along where you knew you would be safe. They gave his shallow life some kind of meaning that he craved to have once again. He had abandoned the church but that part, that craving was still within him. Ari heard the hint of desperation in his voice, how he was longing for a reason to stay.

“Squirrel would disagree with that,” she gestured with her chin towards the boy by the water, the boy that _he_ had saved. Lancelot followed her eye-line to the child, the only goal he had now was to protect Squirrel and return him to his people. But what would he do when that was done? What would be left for him in this world?

Ari sighed, she’d never been without a purpose or point to her life, whether it were a blessing or a curse of being born into a life already chosen for her she did not know. She didn’t know what it would feel like to all of a sudden be torn away from what you had once known like Lancelot had now been torn twice over.

“Perhaps you will find a new purpose,” she offered shyly in a voice laced with genuine hope that Lancelot had so little heard of. In another life he would have scoffed and turned away from her, but he didn’t, he didn’t say anything as he thought over what she was suggesting. Something changed in the air and a part of her shifted, she sat taller and held her head higher. She finally looked back up to him.

“One day things will change. We will have peace. Our lands belong to us once more, we will rebuild our castles which fell and we will reclaim what was ours,” she said proudly. She knew what she had to do, she was just biding her time.

“You mean you’ll reclaim your throne.” Something in the way he said those words sounded like a bitter insult, like he thought that having a crown was all that she cared about, he knew it wasn’t.

Ari shook her head earnestly in slight disbelief, “I don’t care about the throne. Being queen is a responsibility, not a privilege. My father took the crown because _he had to_ , not because he wanted it. All he cared about was keeping his people safe, and he did. And one day those people will live without fear for their lives.” Ari paused, hidden tears stinging behind her eyes, “I will die if I must to see that it happens, _crown or no crown,”_ she said affirmatively, her mind was already made up. She could feel her chest rising heavily and her amulet pressing against her skin in response.

Lancelot felt his mouth part at her passion and something warm spread down into his chest. He had heard speeches before but they were riddled with the words of the scriptures. Ari’s words were more powerful than she knew and they hit him unexpectedly deep within his chest. He saw the queen before him, saw her strength. What she said next shook him to the core.

“And if you want to be, then you will be there, Lancelot,” she nodded, “I will make sure of it.” Ari gave him the rope to pull himself back, to give his life a purpose, a new meaning, all he had to do was take it. Her eyes ran over him lightly as she let her words sink in, it did not pain her to say such a thing as it might have once done and she doesn’t fully understand why she said it.

Lancelot’s rounded eyes held hers as he gazed across at her, at the thought of the possibility that he could have a life beyond what he was. _Every great man was once just a boy,_ the druid’s words echoed on the wind. He didn’t want to be great he just wanted to do something good and honourable for once in his life. The silence hung between them delicately as the barren canopy creaked in the wind above them. Lancelot decided then that he would fight for the Fey, that he would make amends for his mistakes. He would help to see that they could live in harmony once again.

“Then I will fight for your people,” he nodded, lowering his voice as he felt an unusual nervousness creep up on him, “ _for you._ ” The heart beating in his chest stuttered as Ari looked up at him, her face softening at his words that she might not have expected. He knew he would fight for her, protect her and her people. He intended to repay her for the mercy that she had shown him. Lancelot looked across at her like anyone would a rare and beautiful flower, ocean eyes memorising her. Lancelot realised then that perhaps the Fey queen by his side was indeed his purpose.

The squelching noise of Squirrel leading the horses back through the dirt towards them broke Lancelot’s hold on her. He had been looking into her eyes for what felt like forever but was actually just a moment. His throat cleared as he dropped his gaze, feeling an unforgiving heat crawl up his neck. He stood back upright abruptly and turned towards the horses.

Ari pursed her lips in a bashful smile as Lancelot pushed himself off of the tree and walked away quickly to reclaim his horse. She had not realised her heart was beating quicker until it started to calm down now within her chest. Had she forgotten to breathe? He had held her eyes so intently and made the world around her disappear, giving her _that look_ again. Half of her wished that he would stop looking at her that way but the other half hoped he wouldn’t. She rubbed her forehead in an attempt to shake off the feeling. Ari didn’t think he knew exactly of what he was doing, of the looks that he gave.

“I think they drank the entire stream,” Ari heard Squirrel announce with a laugh and Lancelot muttered something in return. Lancelot had accepted her offer to help him find his way amongst them, she did not think of how anybody else might react to this, _to him_. She always did have a habit of getting herself into _difficult-to-navigate_ situations. Her hand ran down her face again and she pulled herself back together, standing to take her horse from Squirrel.

“How long until we get there?” Squirrel looked up to her as she took her reins from him. Lancelot had already mounted Goliath and was waiting patiently for her, keeping his eyes focussed between his horse’s ears.

“The river? Not long,” Ari pulled herself up into Dusty’s saddle. Squirrel moved to their side and reached an arm up to her.

“I meant Byzantine,” he half smiled at her as she clasped a hand around his wrist.

“Oh,” she said shallowly, lifting him up to sit before her in the saddle. “A few days from here,” she breathed out as she hoisted him up. Squirrel nodded and shifted to make himself comfortable.

~•~

“Ari?” Squirrel mumbled her name tiredly from before her in the saddle. They had been travelling for hours now and the boy was getting desperate for sleep.

“Hmm?” she hummed in response, feeling weary herself as Dusty’s feet dragged along the ground. 

“Why does your fire not burn?” Squirrel asked lightly, twisting slightly to rest back against her. He doesn’t know why the question came into his head but he was intrigued, her powers were different and he wanted to understand. He remembered how she scolded him the night before for almost burning Lancelot without hurting himself. 

“I’m not sure. It will not harm whoever I give it to,” she had said so the night before. 

“But I still felt the heat,” Squirrel’s face contorted, he remembers how her flames warmed him up thankfully during the cold evening. 

“There are many things that don’t make rational sense about Fey powers, many things that we cannot explain,” she sighed. She didn’t know why her powers were the way that they were, nobody had answers for her. So she just accepted them as a part of herself and learned to control them as best as she could. 

Lancelot listened to them and looked to his own hands, remembering the power to command water that they held. If there was no explanation then how could it be true? How could magic be real if there was no logic or reason? Which part of himself was he supposed to listen to,  _ Lancelot _ or  _ the Weeping Monk? _ The paladin within him would say their powers were the devil’s work, _witchery_ acting at its finest to undermine his God’s marvellous creations. But the Fey in him says to _accept it_ , he has powers and he cannot change that. He’s not comfortable with them, he doesn’t want to use them, but he is Fey, one of the lucky ones blessed with such gifts. But even the Fey part of him wants answers. 

“How can you accept your powers if you have no reason for them?” He asked suddenly after a moment of silence, startling Ari to turn her head tiredly and glance over her shoulder at him. His tone was not exactly bright and she knew that he was serious.

Ari looked at him watching his own hands, examining them, like something within their patchworked lines and scars would give him the answers he was seeking for. She new he was doubting his own powers, and she honestly would have been more worried if he didn’t. 

“Can you explain everything within your scriptures?” Ari asked and Lancelot looked up to her, she couldn’t read what emotion was across his face for it was empty. She recognised that his doubts for their powers was likely also rooted within what he had been taught, to be Fey and to be a monk both require a level of understanding that not everything can be explained.

“The sun moving across the sky?” She prompted, lifting her eyes to the clouds. Lancelot just stared at her.

“How the snow melts to water on the ground?” Ari lowered her gaze and gestured to the trail. 

“Why you’re such an ugly lump?” Squirrel joined in, muttering lowly as he smirked over at Lancelot. Ari tried not to laugh and poked the boy’s side, tickling him slightly and making him chuckle. 

The corner of Lancelot’s mouth twitched into a gentle, crooked smile at the pair. He knew what Ari was getting at, what she was trying to say to him. He nudged his horse to meet up to their side. They looked across at him as he rode next to them. 

“So it is  _ faith _ in the unknown,” he sighed gently.  _ Faith_, that was something he knew. He understood faith, how to have blind belief in something that is ethereal and unexplained. With the church there were the scriptures, there were written words to guide him and give him answers, but here he felt like there was nothing. 

Ari smiled subtly, recognising that he had understood her intentions. She could see his reluctance to trust the Fey magic, he had been commanded once before to follow the unknown blindly and now she was asking him to do it again. The constant internal back and forth between who he once once and who he is wanting to be is going to tear him apart if he keeps on trying to fight it, to _fear it _ . 

His eyes drifted over to her as his body swayed along with the rhythm of his horse. She had not said anything in response but she was smiling at him, lips turning up at the edges gently. Sometimes he wished that he knew exactly what she was thinking when she looked at him that way. She adjusted the reins in her grip around Squirrel and brought her hand closest to him to hover in the air between them. He saw her take a deeper breath and then a tiny flame came from her fingertips, much smaller than it had done the day before. His eyes flicked down to the flame and back up to her. 

“ _Faith_ , ” Ari shrugged casually, twisting her hand slowly so that the flame danced at her fingertips. 

Lancelot’s own hand reached out before he’d even realised it had done, an instinct. His fingertips travelled towards hers in the air and he dared to touch the flame, it did not burn him. Ari curled her fingers and her skin delicately brushed over the very ends of his own outstretched fingers. He doesn’t know why since he barely felt her touch him, but a shiver tickled up through his palm to his wrist, his arm, his shoulder, crawling up his neck until it rested behind his ear. His eyes darted softly across her face as she focussed on their hands, transferring the small flame into his ownership. He took a breath when she drew her hand back and took hold of her reins again in both hands, golden eyes coming up to meet his beside her. 

Lancelot drew his hand back to hold it before him, twisting his wrist and examining the embers like she had done just then. _Faith_ , perhaps it would not be too difficult to believe, he just had to try. Magic was here in front of him, he quite literally held it in his hands. It was not written or here-say,  _ it existed_ _,_ and it was here. Perhaps it did not matter that there was no rational explanation for he knew just as the sun sits in the sky that it was real. He would not stop wanting answers but he would learn to live without them. Unlike many of the scriptures and teachings within the church, there was no way that he could doubt this. 

They met the River Wren by nightfall, stopping again for the evening and making camp once more beneath the stars. They did not know of the danger which awaited for them in the morning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loooooong chapter. Thank you to everybody that’s reading this! I really appreciate it and your comments always make me smile x  
> Anybody else sense some *mild* flirting and *maybe* pining?  
> Erh danger? I’m just going to apologise for the next chapter now :)


	17. the ambush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lancelot comes to terms with his conflicting faiths and Ari makes a deadly decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW// moderate violence.  
> AN// I know I update fairly quickly but the next eight or so chapters are basically fully written, if you need me to slow down then let me know?  
> As ever, comments are greatly appreciated, love to know your thoughts x

[[Moodboard](https://captainbucky-yt.tumblr.com/post/642949767978205184/youre-not-what-i-was-looking-for-the-weeping)]

“Do you feel that?” Lancelot sounded slightly startled as he twisted on his heel in the snow. They had camped not too far away from the wide flowing River Wren under the canopy just inside the edge of the tree line, and now they were preparing to leave again, never staying in the same place for longer than necessary. The fire that they had made now started to dwindle down in the morning light and Ari stomped her foot down to squander it for good.

“Feel what?” Ari asked, giving him a look as she picked up her empty water skin.

“The wind,” Lancelot replied, looking a little confused. Ari narrowed her eyes at him, _there was no wind_. Lancelot’s head twitched suddenly and he held a finger up in front of himself, pointing it towards the sky.

“That,” his voice was urgent as he felt it again. Ari looked at him, face concerned for whatever was happening to him. _There’s no wind, is a fever taking him or has he finally gone mad?_

“Do you not hear it?” He turned to her a few paces away, his blue eyes rounding as she just stared at him. His expression reminded her of being by the brook, of how panicked he looked then as his own thoughts tormented his mind.

“Hear what?” Squirrel asked from across the camp, and Ari realised then what was happening.

“The Hidden,” Ari gasped, more to herself than anything but Lancelot heard her. She felt the markings on her wrist ache in that moment but she could not hear the whispers as he was doing.

Lancelot’s eyes shifted back to hers quickly, mortified. _Why would the Hidden want to reach me of all people?_ His mouth hung open, and the usual collected state he held slipped away, hands fidgeting down at his sided. The Hidden were uncharted territory and he did not like the unsteady feeling it was giving him.

Ari stepped closer towards him, “Does it sound like a whisper but it’s not words?” She asked.He thought about what she meant and then nodded. He’d heard whispers before but they were so faint that he ignored them, blaming it on something else. This breeze pushed again at the hem of his cloak.

“They are talking to you,” Ari said with a glint in her eyes. Lancelot swallowed, he didn’t know what to do, to act on _his_ beliefs or _hers_.

“Why?” He asked, on the precipice of anxious confusion. He doesn’t understand The Hidden, not even a little. Another part of his Fey heritage that was lost to him, beaten out of him. He had listened to Ari’s story at Zurah’s cottage of how they came to be, and he remembers her words clearly. He remembers everything that she tells him, but that did not mean that he understood.

Ari shrugged lazily, “In my experience, if The Hidden call to you, then you should _probably_ listen.” She quirked her eyebrow along with her lips, “They are the only reason that you are alive right now.”

He had turned away to follow the whispers but his head came quickly back to her, _always back to her_ , eyes searching over her lightly smirking face in confusion once more.

Ari clarified, “The day we met, when I had you pinned to the ground and my blade to your throat,” she said proudly and Lancelot felt his eyes wanting to roll, remembering her victory over him, “they told me to let you live.” The Hidden had told her what to do but the act was still her decision to make. She watched him as he realised what she was saying.

“What about your laws?” He frowned. She had said that their customs meant that she could not harm another Fey, he had thought that’s why she didn’t kill him. But now he thinks about it, _The Hidden have spoken, the Monk will live_ , that’s what she had said. Lancelot realised it then that _that’s_ why she had yielded. His shoulders dropped a little under his cloak. 

Ari smirked, she did not have to say out loud that she was almost on the verge of ignoring her own rules and was prepared to kill a fellow Fey that evening. She was serious about it at the time, but joked about it now. Lancelot nodded, returning her smirk subtly.

“I guess I should thank them then,” he said sarcastically as he looked up towards the clouded morning sky.

“Perhaps you should,” Ari responded lowly, mirroring his level of dry humour. He glanced at her and she turned away to leave him with the whispers, she knew how difficult that they could be to understand, and she wondered what exactly they were saying to him. Ari gestured her wrist for Squirrel to come with her to the river to refill their water skins. The boy caught up to her but she did not get far before Lancelot stopped her.

“I cannot be a Fey _and_ a Christian.” It was something that had been playing on his mind. A question he tugged himself back and forth between for practically all of his life, but even more so now. He had thought about it every night since he had left the Paladin camp with Squirrel.

Ari looked back over her shoulder at Lancelot, his head hanging down beneath his hood as he examined his feet. She wondered what exactly went through his thoughts each time that he stood like that. Ari nudged Squirrel and gave him her water skin, gesturing with her chin over in the direction of the river.

“Why not?” She crossed her arms casually and started to turn back to Lancelot. In truth, she had been waiting silently for this, for him to cross the boundary of talking about their beliefs. She had thought that maybe he would do when they were at the ruined abbey but the conversation never came, and she would not push him unless he came to her first. Her heart swelled just a little as she saw his jaw twitch beneath his defeated expression, she did not enjoy that he still had doubts this way but she never expected him to just change overnight. The sound of Squirrel's footsteps quietened as he disappeared quickly around the uneven mounds of earth towards the water.

“Because-," he sighed, hushing his voice, “of what I have done.” Ari could once again see how ashamed he was of himself, this self-loathing would get him nowhere if he didn’t work through it. He had been disconnected from the Fey culture for so long that he no longer knew what it meant to have faith in the Hidden and not the church. Ari walked back towards him, her voice gentle and light.

“ _Lancelot_ , there are Fey who don’t believe in the Hidden. And there are Fey so connected to them that they live _through_ them.” She shrugged her shoulders, “Everyone else just has faith to some level in between and even then, everyone believes differently, depending on which stories they were told as a child. There’s no book telling us what _to do_ or _not to do_. We just, have ourselves. And that’s okay.” She kept her eyes on him to judge his response, realising that she had rambled uncharacteristically just a little.

Lancelot considered her words for a moment, “Then how do you know how to live?” _What guides you? How do you know what is right and what is wrong?_

Ari chuckled, he truly was blind to the way of being Fey, but he was learning and that was the important thing. He was accepting how to have faith in his powers, but having faith in The Hidden was something else. They could not be seen, only heard, and even then only by few, much like his Christian God she suspected.

“We have this thing called common sense,” she answered with a smile, but then came back down when she saw that he was not quite sharing in her lightheartedness. “We have laws, and we are not without morals," she raised an eyebrow at how the Paladins had taught him they were demons, "I lead the way my father did, and he lead like his uncle did. There are flaws, obviously but-,” she stopped herself, feeling like she was rambling on at him again. Ari sighed, casting her eyes down to the ground between them briefly as she gathered her thoughts. Lancelot waited patiently, curiously for her to continue.

“What I am trying to say is that, Fey judge one another by what they do, _what they say._ By how they treat each other, not by whatever,” she gestured to the air, “higher _something_ they do or do not believe in.” Lancelot’s expression changed and Ari knew that she had struck a chord within him, she hoped it was the right one. She smiled softly, “You would probably be the first _Christian_ Fey but, your God is your God and if you want to believe in that then that is okay.”

Lancelot’s face pinched, was the queen of the Fey really telling him this? He had expected that maybe she would fight for her beliefs, she had no reason not to. He looked at her questioningly, her voice soothing over his worries.

“But what about the Hidden?” He asked.

Ari chuckled casually again, “What about them?”

Lancelot couldn’t understand how this discussion was so easy for her. He looked at her, puzzled, “I, don’t, I-”

Ari had never seen him falter like this.

“It's not _one or the other,_ Lance. You can believe in both if you want to,” she would not push her beliefs onto him, not if he didn’t want them, that wasn’t fair. It was his choice to make and she would accept it whichever way. A calm silence fell between them as she let her words sink in.

Ari felt like she had to do something. Lancelot seemed more comfortable with physicality and not words, it was the way that his mind worked, _actions over reactions_. So she stepped forward and brought her hand up to him as her gaze stayed trained on what she was doing.

His eyes followed her fingers as they hooked onto the string around his neck, lifting it gently so that the amulet came out from beneath where it was hidden under his overcoat. Lancelot kept his face low but looked at her’s as she positioned the amulet down onto his chest, letting the carved leaf rest over the dark cross on his tunic. He felt a flutter in his stomach that he’d never felt before as her fingertips brushed down his tunic.

Ari took in a deep breath and relaxed, her hand lingering over the two symbols of their different lives.

“It's your choice,” she whispered earnestly, pressing her palm down in the centre of his chest to cover over the two crests of their faiths tenderly. It was a bold gesture on her part, she did not know how he would react to the touch. She felt her cheeks flushing when her eyes lifted and met his finally, and Lancelot thought that he would melt beneath her hand. The delicacy she gave each time she had touched him always contrasted the storm and grief that was inside of her, and to anyone else the contradiction might seem impossible.

Her lips curved up into a heartwarming expression for a moment before she stepped back, removing her hand away and leaving behind a heat in the centre of his chest. There was a line between them and she was getting close to crossing it.

Lancelot felt less conflicted than before, like he was on his way to finding peace with himself and who he was, who he could be. To hear the Fey queen give him permission to have his faith and still be accepted as a Fey was something that he never thought would happen. It was sinful for him to believe in more than one faith but he understood what she had said. There was a freedom in the way that the Fey lived which he had unknowingly longed for. If he wanted to keep his beliefs then that would be fine, and if he wanted to have faith in hers then he would be able to learn as he was doing with his powers. But what if he had both? What if instead of fearing both sides of himself, he embraced them?

His softening eyes were betraying whatever feelings he was growing as they kept locked onto hers. He went to say something when, “Ari!”

Squirrel’s desperate voice shot through the air like an arrow as he sprinted towards them, feet lifting rapidly over the shallow snow. Ari’s head shot around so quickly and Lancelot’s eyes darted to the panting child. And then they saw what the boy was alerting them to.

~•~

They were surrounded, Paladins emerging from every angle like stalking wolves. Ari pulled Squirrel in between herself and Lancelot who had pulled her behind him, forming a shield to cover the child. Lancelot had his sword drawn and was preparing himself for a fight, his other hand holding back onto Squirrel’s shoulder for dear life to restrain him. He had handled this many threats before when he had fought the trinity guard, but he had almost died doing it. If they attacked, then there would be nobody to defend the boy. But they could not run for the horses either, as they now found themselves trapped within this circle of red cloaks. It took his mind back to the Paladin camp surrounded by the masked soldiers, to the feeling of anxious dread rushing through his veins as he held the boy firmly behind him back then.

“How did you find us?” Ari spat at them, her sword braced at her side as her vision darted between each one. They could not have just appeared out of nowhere, no, this was organised. Ari didn’t even for a second think that Lancelot had a hand in this, she did not doubt his loyalty.

Lancelot tensed, he was so lost in her and their conversation before that he had not sensed the ambush, and when he did it was too late.

“You were betrayed dear queen,” the one leading the reds smiled wickedly at Ari, drawing her attention. He feigned sympathy devilishly, “By your own kind.” He made her blood both boil and run cold at the same time.

The red snake stepped forward, mocking her in a hushed tone, “You should not have travelled through _that_ particular village.”

Ari was confused and enraged and it showed on her face, in her heavily rising chest, _what was he talking about,_ the Fey elder from the day before had welcomed them.

“It’s amazing what demons will do for a little coin,” the Paladin hissed.

Ari’s heart stopped.

“You bastard!” She lunged for him but Lancelot caught her arm and pulled her back. He understood her anger but the snake was not worth it.

“Abbot Wicklow will reward us a pretty price for you three,” the red human gestured at them with delicately thin hands. Ari vaguely recognised the name but it was Lancelot and Squirrel who tensed the most. The Abbot was the one who had commanded their deaths.

“ _That scum_ ,” Squirrel spat under his breath. Lancelot would have scolded him if he had not agreed. Ari could only see one painful way out of the situation. She tried to reason with the snake.

“You leave them be, and you can take me,” she breathed out quickly.

“What are you doing?” The boy whispered from behind her, tugging his tiny hand on her cloak. 

Lancelot's grip around her arm tightened instinctively with his disapproval but she shrugged him off.

“That’s not an option, _witch_ ,” the Paladin spat out.

“I am the last daughter of the Sunborn Fey. I am worth more than this man and child combined to your Pope,” she reeled out quickly, feeling her energy rushing through her veins, “ _refuse_ , and it will not end well for any of you. Are you really willing to risk your lives over a demon like me?” Squirrel and Lancelot were her people, her responsibility, she would protect them even if it meant exchanging her own life for theirs without even questioning it.

She had a plan, she could use her fire powers to dispatch them to their hell but only once Lancelot and the boy were far enough away in safety, she did not trust herself otherwise. For something that large would take a great amount of energy that she was not be confident she could stably control. And if it failed, she was sure that she would meet her gods pretty quickly.

Lancelot braced the sword at his side. The Paladins surrounding them eyed him carefully, they knew what he was capable of. He did not like whatever plan she was making and he was growing anxious. The one who seemed to lead them eyed her up and down like she was some prized piece of meat, considered her, and nodded his head to Lancelot’s surprise.

“Put your swords away, all of you,” he said staring at the former monk. The Paladins did one by one. Lancelot did not move a muscle, but reluctantly sheathed his blade when Ari nodded behind herself at him, sheathing her own sword. The tingling of imminent threat hung in the air.

Ari took a deep breath and stepped forward but she was stopped by something warm taking her hand. _Lancelot_. She turned her head, his eyes meeting hers immediately, pleading with her in a way she had not seen before. _Don’t do this._ He looked as if his heart was breaking inside of his chest as the heat from his fingers spread through her leather binds.

“Oh, _I see_ ,” the Paladin’s words slithered through the air, “the Weeping Monk, _the solitary beast_ , has found himself,” he paused, “ _a Fey queen."_ He laughed mockingly _, “_ how touching that is.” The devils in red snickered at them hauntingly and Lancelot wanted to slap each and every one of their breaths away.

Ari kept her face strong, the less she portrayed the better it would be, but Lancelot’s usually stoic face was betraying him unexpectedly. It felt as if he was looking right through her but his eyes were boring into her soul, his head shaking subtly, _please_. He knew what they would do to her, the pain that they would cause her. He couldn’t let her go with them, he wouldn’t.

“Hurry up, witch,” the Paladin raised his voice hastily.

“Take Squirrel,” she hushed.

Lancelot angled his head at her, trying to school his own rising chest, _no_.

“You promised to get him to safety,” she reminded him, narrowing her eyes at his defiance.

Lancelot moved half a step closer, whispering through the thick air between them. His face was mere inches away from hers and he could see every line, every fleck, every glimmer of gold in her eyes.

“ _Not without you_.”

Ari’s heart skipped within her chest fleetingly, eyes glancing over his desperate face. _He could have picked better timing to say such a thing_. She twisted her hand into his and held onto it, crossing their line, squeezing around his calloused palm like it was the first and last time she would get to do so.

“Take her,” the leader shouted impatiently. Ari withdrew her hand from Lancelot’s, immediately saddened at the loss of the touch but she did not show it. She moved away before he could reach for her again. Lancelot couldn’t take his eyes off of her as she retreated.

 _What am I doing_ , she thought. A hand suddenly gripped into her hair from behind her and pulled her roughly down to the ground as she bared her teeth from the pain, another went to take her sword from her hip.

 _Bastards_. Lancelot went quickly for his sword but two blades came up dangerously close to his neck. He grabbed onto the boy to keep him still. His eyes burned as he was watched Ari writhe in the melting snow, two Paladins holding her down whilst a third bound her wrists behind her. He should have known better than to let her bargain with them, when he himself had warned Ari against it before now.

Lancelot’s fury was seething as the boy shouted curses at them. They pulled her up and forced her over to a horse. They began to tie her binds to the back of the saddle when the leader turned and commanded with ease, “Kill them.”

“No!” Ari exclaimed. She pushed back against the ones gripping her and they stumbled.

Lancelot reacted without thought, kicking one Paladin in front of him and drawing his sword as fast as lightening on the other. He shoved the boy back and yelled at him to run.

Ari pushed and kicked against her captors, forcing the pair to lose balance. She quickly knelt and reached down to pull the dagger from her boot. She twisted it in her bound hands behind her and jumped back onto one of the off-balance Paladins. Her dagger stuck into his chest before he could react and they both fell to the ground. Unlucky for him, Ari was skilled, and used their momentum to roll backwards over his shoulder and onto her feet. The man let out a painful cry as the dagger pulled out from his chest. She glanced briefly over to Lancelot who was swiftly dealing with a gathering group of Paladins, two or maybe three already laying lifeless on the floor. She couldn’t see Squirrel.

She walked herself backwards, eyes irate as her other captor was coming for her, his sword drawn and she was defenceless. She held her breath as the red cloak came towards her until something tugged at her wrists. She spun and almost caught the boy in the face with her dagger, “What are you-quickly!”

“I’m trying!” Squirrel had her sword in his hands and cut her binds loose.

“Go!” He shouted as three other Paladins started towards them and shoved her sword into her hands. Ari turned just in time to cut through the arm of her second captor and he fell to the floor, bleeding out. She twisted and threw her dagger at the first of the three Paladins, landing it cleanly into his neck, then glanced frantically at the others. She had to get Squirrel out, she had to draw them away from Lancelot, so they ran. Ari kept Squirrel in front of her and looked back every few paces to check how many were following them. She grimaced as she saw Lancelot battling with multiple Paladins, getting further and further into the distance.

“This way!” Squirrel shouted back to her, but his haste clouded his judgement.

“Squirrel no!” She caught his cloak just in time to stop him from falling. His eyes were blown wide as he stared over the edge of the land and down the twenty-odd feet drop to the flowing, deep river below. She turned her head back and saw the other two red plus another coming towards them. They were almost fully trapped on the outcrop of land.

“What do we do?” The boy panicked as he gripped onto her sleeves. She looked quickly back down to the river, it was too much of a drop for them to jump down safely. She swallowed and tried to catch some of her breath.

The boy shook her arm, “Ari,” he pleaded. She looked at him then and she could see the fear in his eyes, the boy was terrified.

Ari grabbed onto his shoulders, “When I tell you to go, _you go_ , do you understand?” He looked at her, fear etched onto his face. He opened his mouth to speak but she did it for him, “Find Lancelot. Okay?” He swallowed and nodded. “Okay,” she repeated.

Ari stood up tall and adjusted her grip on the sword in her bloody hand. She stepped forward and held her palm out to keep Squirrel safely behind her, guarding him with her body. There was no escape, it was either forwards towards the three red Paladins or backwards off of the ridge, so she chose the fight. They stalked forwards closer towards her, swords drawn and waiting.

“We don’t fear you, _witch_ ,” the first one spat, creeping closer with his red cloak trailing behind him.

Ari cocked her head, “You should.”

The first one lunged for her recklessly and he died quickly, a simple and clean blade through the abdomen. If these crusaders didn’t want to be killed so easily, then perhaps they should have made better choices with what they wore.The second Paladin was stronger, they clashed swords and he caught her side with his blade but Ari twisted away before it could do any real damage. He did not last for much longer after that. But the third was the strongest, and Ari was feeling the adrenaline rushing through her body, sight narrowing into tunnel vision at the Paladin before her. He swung and the sword went wide over her head as she ducked and shoved her hand into his side to push him back, but he just did the same to her at her shoulder. They both stumbled away and a short distance was put between them as they scowled at each other.

He stepped and swung for her chest but missed and Ari lunged into his space with her own sword reaching out. He held his hand up to stop her sword arm but she twisted and landed her other elbow to his face instead of her sword. He was an unusually good fighter for a Paladin but she was better. Ari twisted for a backswing and the bloody nosed Paladin crouched to avoid her blade. Ari kicked at him when he was down and he fell away, rolling to get back onto his feet.

A distance was put between them again and the Paladin went for the attack. Their swords clashed and the sound rang through Ari’s ears painfully. He ran his sword up against hers, and with a twist and a kick to distract her, he disarmed her.

Ari stumbled back, suddenly without a weapon. She was a fighter through and through, she had even defeated Lancelot and he was supposed to be the Paladins’ best sword. The Paladin grinned at her devilishly and she felt her blood boil, _she didn’t need a weapon when she was one_.

He came for her and forced her backwards as he lunged with his sword swinging through the air. Squirrel dodged out of the way of her back-step but couldn’t find his feet to run.

“Go!” Ari yelled at Squirrel but the boy did not move. Ari jumped into the Paladin’s space before he had the chance to complete his next swing, blocking it with her hands pushing on his sword arm and a knee lifting up into his body. He groaned painfully in her ear and they were caught in a lock. She kneed up into him again and forced her arm down into the crook of his outstretched elbow. The Paladin buckled and Ari took the chance to hook her ankle around his leg and lift.

Squirrel watched her get him to the ground with a look mixed of terror and awe. He had seen it before, she had done the same to Lancelot at her camp and had won that fight.

The Paladin let go of his sword which landed just out of reach as he hit the ground hard. Ari leaned down over him and landed a punch, but the Paladin blocked her second and pulled her over to his side.

Ari rolled forwards and pushed herself back onto her feet, she would not go down so easily. She was just about stood back upright when her cloak choked her neck and she was pulled back. She twisted on her heel and the Paladin’s arm wrapped over her shoulder, still gripping onto her cloak. She spared a quick glance at the ground, this was not going to end well. He went to hit her but her hand jabbed into his throat and he gagged, then she gripped her fingers around his neck.

Ari didn’t know why she was doing it, her magic had never been intended for such evils, she swore she would never harm another with her powers. The instinct to fight and defend herself went into overdrive as her blood rushed through her body, teeth snarling like an irate wolf. Her hand was around the Paladin’s throat as his face whitened, she had never killed a man with her bare hands this way before, and it was not something to be glad about. He kicked at her leg and tried to push her over but all she did was stumble and bring him back with her.

“Go!” Ari growled at Squirrel again but she was silenced when a fist came into her cheek. Her other hand gripped onto his cloak and she dropped herself to the ground painfully and brought him with her, it wasn't the best move to make but she needed the earth if this was going to work. Ari let go of his cloak, colliding her fist with his jaw before she dug her hand into the broken up dirt where they had fought and begged the earth to help her even with her palms still bound, praying that the contact of her fingers would be enough. He was so close she could practically feel his shallow breath on her skin, see his veins turning a deep purple as he started to choke from her powers. His life began to drain through her into the ground, the sensation like a spirit taking a hold of her insides and twisting. The Paladin writhed in desperation, clawing and grabbing at anything he could get of her. All there was was white noise, a numbing spreading through her as her head pounded and her vision lost focus. The perilous battle cry that rattled from her throat was involuntary and if she was fully aware of herself it would likely have terrified her. 

Squirrel knelt frozen as he stared at the two grappling in front of him, hands on throats and shoulders as one tried to overpower the other. He saw the Paladin roll them and try to grab for his fallen sword on the ground. He shook himself back to reality and turned around before scurrying along the ground to grab one of the other swords lying in the thin snow. He thought he heard someone shouting his name but his heart was beating so fast that he could hardly hear anything else in his head.

Squirrel gripped onto one of the swords, gathered up the courage and stood up onto his feet but when he turned back around,

Ari and the Paladin were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought her hand on Lancelot's chest over his cross and the Fey amulet was a pretty bold move of acceptance, yes? And do I detect some pining?
> 
> Erm... NOT WITHOUT YOU, dayum Lancelot finally finding his voice.
> 
> But, where'd they go?


	18. anchor on to me, love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ari's life hangs in the balance as Squirrel and Lancelot fight to save her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW// drowning and near main character death. There is a moment where one character is physically sick, I have capped this with *** if you would like to skip past it.  
> Comments are greatly appreciated x

[[Moodboard](https://captainbucky-yt.tumblr.com/post/643305290286219265/youre-not-what-i-was-looking-for-the-weeping)]

_I hear a storm is coming in_

_My dear is it all we’ve ever been?_

“Squirrel!” Lancelot shouted as he saw the boy reach for something on the ground. His tunic was covered in blood, so much so that he wasn’t sure what was his and what belonged to the twelve or so Paladins he had just dispatched to the depths of hell. He ran as fast as his feet would allow him out through the dense trees as the ground began to slope upwards. And then his heart stopped.

Lancelot watched as a mass of red and earth tones fell off of the edge of the land. His lungs sank down into his chest and he felt like he couldn’t breath. He stood lifeless as he watched the boy scramble over towards where Ari and the Paladin had fallen from. _Get away from the edge_. He wanted to scream but his feet picked themselves up instead.

Lancelot fell to his knees next to the boy and dropped his sword to the ground as he reached the edge, eyes darting to scan the flowing water below, _nothing_. The boy was crying, warm tears rolling down his cheeks as he sobbed to himself, shouting out her name. Lancelot could feel his face burning, his mind panicking, his fists clutching at the earth as he leaned over.

“There!” The boy exclaimed, pointing to the red cloak which had appeared at the surface of the river. Lancelot was hopeful for a second but that soon washed away.

“Come on,” Lancelot begged desperately under his shallow breaths, his body twitching restlessly as his nails dug into the dirt.“Come on Ari,” he prayed, hardly breathing. He didn’t know who he was praying to but he hoped that they might listen to him.

Lancelot tried to use his senses to find her scent, _wood violet and leather,_ but it was clouded and disfigured by the water and he wasn’t thinking straight. He suddenly flashed back to the brook, where he had sat and placed his hand into the water and the water had moved for him. The cold air wished around and passed over him, carrying the faintest whisper that didn’t make sense. Lancelot reached his palm out and the boy’s helpless face turned to him.

“What are you doing?” The boy breathed out through his cries.

Lancelot did not respond, he had to focus. He wasn’t sure how but he tried to force all of his energy into his palm as he pushed his other hand into the dirt. He willed for the water to move. The boy’s eyes darted back and forth between his hand and his face, emotionless and concentrating. Lancelot thought of all the times the Father had beaten him down, scarred him, _hurt him_. Of how Ari had pressed the cloth to his forehead to clean his wound, how she held his hands and tended his palms. Lancelot felt his eyes glaze over, the burning on his face strengthened. He remembered the feeling of her hand against his chest earlier, the warmth that she gave him. How she didn’t push him away. The thought of the boy next to him, how he was willing to charge into the trinity guards who threatened to harm him in the Paladin camp. He felt a breeze cross over him again, brushing at his cloak carrying whispers in the air, _listen to the light_. The world around him went numb.

“There she is!” The boy cried out. Lancelot’s trance broke and he saw her then, lifeless in the water.

Lancelot doesn’t know how, or if it was even because of him, but the water had moved and brought her up to the surface. His mouth fell open and he took his first heavy breath in he didn’t know how long. His rounded eyes looked around frantically, searching for the fastest way down to the river’s edge. Then he got up, grabbing his sword as he ran back towards the trees and sprinted along the tree line. The boy followed behind him as best as he could, running in Lancelot's tracks in the snow covered dirt. Lancelot rounded a large rock and found a slope on the other side which went down to the water. He needed to get ahead of the current.

“Here,” Lancelot breathed out urgently, dropping his sword. He scrambled to pull off his cloak as his feet came to an abrupt halt on the river bank.“Take this” he ordered quickly, handing the boy his cloak. He unbuckled his sword belt with well trained fingers and gave that to Squirrel as well. He pointed quickly to the sword he had discarded in the dirt and Squirrel understood.

Lancelot’s eyes glanced back to her in the water, floating at the surface. The river was flowing and pulling her further towards them. He looked down at his tunic, tied to him through too many loops and laces down his sides, _there isn’t time._ The low growl that came from his throat signalled his annoyance with his attire.

“She’s gone!” Squirrel shouted and edged closer to the river, trying to hold himself together behind panicking eyes.

Lancelot’s head snapped back up and he could no longer see Ari. He jumped down into the river and began to swim out as if on instinct to find her. The water soon soaked through under his tunic to his overcoat and their weight began to get heavy, but it wasn’t going to stop him from getting to her. He dived under the water to try and find her but the river was too clouded. He came back up and gasped for air, all the while Squirrel watched on from the bank helplessly.

Lancelot was getting desperate, he’d never felt his heart beating so fast in his chest. He'd never had to save someone's life, it was frightening, each second she was under was a step closer to losing her completely. He took a breath and went under the water again, trying to use his powers to help in some way though he didn’t know exactly what he was doing or even trying to do. He needed Ari here, he didn’t know how to do this without her. He came up and broke the surface once more with his arms empty.

“Hurry up!” The boy cried out to him, clutching on to the man’s cloak in his hands. It wasn’t the most helpful thing that Squirrel could have shouted but the boy was panicking, as was Lancelot, who was now being pulled with the current.

 _Time is running out Lancelot,_ the wind whipped at him.

He tried to stand and hook his feet into anything that was there on the riverbed, anything to keep him steady. He no longer cared that his powers were a sin to his God, a symbol of the demon within him. He put his hands out into the water and willed with all his might for it to stop. It wasn’t working.

Lancelot's powers seemed to be tied to his thoughts, his emotions, they were not yet instinct like hers and he could not just command them freely. He thought of Ari, how she sacrificed herself for them. How she shows him a rare kindness he so very little has received. How her eyes dance with gold in the sunlight. He gave his whole mind to her. And the water moved backwards, flowing against its current to a stand still.

Lancelot looked around frantically and as the torrents cleared around him, he saw something. A shape, a mass, _a something_.

Squirrel watched as the water moved unnaturally. He gazed at Lancelot in wonder, _how is he doing that?_ It was safe to say that he was impressed. Squirrel came back to reality when he saw the man disappear again beneath the surface. _Please, please, please,_ he shuffled on his feet. The boy looked up to the sky and prayed to The Hidden, begged them to just give him this one thing. Just as he looked back down, Lancelot rose up and out of the water, holding a lifeless Ari in his arms. Squirrel let out a cry of relief, dropping the cloak and sword to the ground and ran to the edge as Lancelot pulled her through the water. 

“Help me get her out,” the tired Lancelot begged when he reached the bank. Squirrel reached out his tiny arms and tried to hook them under her shoulders as Lancelot handed her to him and got out of the water. The boy barely managed to hold up the dead weight of her torso but he grit his teeth, mustered some strength and started to pull her back.

Lancelot found his footing and took the limp figure from the boy, picking her up with a groan into his arms. He carried her away from the water and back towards the tree line to find a dry patch of land. It was difficult with the thin layer of melting snow but he found one beneath an old tree. Squirrel brought over Lancelot’s cloak and sword and threw them down at his side.

Lancelot lay Ari down on the ground. He checked for a sign, anything to say that she was alive, for the blood staining her shirt and the paleness of her skin, except for the purple across her cheek, suggested otherwise. She had been under the water for too long. He searched and felt his eyes well when he found the faintest of pulses beneath his fingertips at her neck. He told himself that his almost tears were just an effect of his exhaustion, but his chest said that maybe he actually had come to care for her in a way he had never cared for anyone else before.

“We have to get the water out of her,” Lancelot breathed, his head spinning. Now wasn’t the moment to be trying to rationalise his emotions. He didn’t know how to do this, he wasn’t used to having to save someone’s life.

“Well do something then!” Squirrel shouted at him, and given the situation Lancelot ignored his tone, the boy had every right to be this way. He thought hard. _I can give, and I can take,_ she had said. And then he had an idea, he didn’t know if it would work or not, but he had to try. He took her hand and unbound the leather wrap, tossing it up towards Squirrel. Then he took her palm and placed it into the dirt like he had seen her do before. His rough hand rested on top of hers as he pressed it towards the earth. Nothing happened.

“Please,” he begged the earth desperately to help her as he barely held himself up. The water drenching his hair started to run down his face and his head began to ache from the cold. What was he thinking? Jumping without question into a river in the middle of winter. His only relief is that it hadn't yet frozen over. 

Squirrel looked down to the ground with his eyes closed, mumbling things almost silently, _praying_.

Nothing was happening and Lancelot felt like he was failing. Failing Squirrel, failing himself, failing Ari. _I cannot bring back what is already lost,_ she had told him. He squeezed her hand, voice low as he bent down towards her.

“Listen to me, I know you’re still there. You have to fight, Ari," he shook her hand a little too roughly in the dirt, "you have to come back. Squirrel needs you,” he paused, squeezing her hand again, his expression faltering, “I need you.”

He didn’t know why he admitted it, but he did. _He needed her_. He couldn’t understand why but something within him wouldn’t let her go. As he watched her now, pale and lifeless on the ground, he wanted to hold her, to feel her warm against him. Lancelot felt her palm twitch beneath his hand, his eyes shooting to where her skin buried in the dirt. It was the tiniest of movements but he felt it, he was sure.

The earth beneath her began to glow a with a golden light. Lancelot allowed himself to breathe shallowly as he bit down the exhausted sob that he wanted to let out, but he would not rest until her eyes were open and she was looking up at him. His other hand went to her neck and he concentrated on feeling for her pulse growing stronger beneath her cold skin. His eyes squeezed shut as he focussed all of his attention on her pulse beneath his fingertips.

Squirrel’s sadness changed to happy tears as he realised what was happening. His hand came up and tapped frantically at Lancelot’s arm to get him to look, which he did.

The skin of Ari’s hand glowed beneath Lancelot’s, her veins highlighting into a patchwork of golden white threads. It travelled up her arm towards her chest and up through her neck, golden fingers spreading outwards, and within seconds Lancelot felt the blood rush through strongly beneath her skin again. _She's alive._ After a moment of relieving calm her body began to convulse and Lancelot rolled her quickly onto her side, positioning himself behind her body to keep her as steady as he could. Her throat made an indescribable noise and with a grimace, he pushed her beneath the ribs with his palm. He'd never done it himself but he'd seen the action on a few occasions. 

***

“She needs to cough up the water,” he explained to the boy who was watching him then in horror, he’d never saved anyone’s life either.

Lancelot pushed harder into her again and her body buckled. He pushed beneath her ribs reluctantly once more and finally she coughed, river water flowing up and out of her as she automatically rolled further onto her side. The boy flinched away, not wanting to watch. It was a strange thing to be relieved about but Lancelot sighed, finally allowing himself to take a deeper breath. He somehow knew what was coming next.

“We need a fire,” he declared, “go find some dry wood.” He told the boy, tilting his face up to the trees. The boy nodded and scurried away quickly. It was true that they needed to get her warm with a fire, but Lancelot just really didn’t want the boy to see this. He peeled her wet hair up and away from her face and as if on cue, Ari coughed up the final bit of river water along with the contents of her stomach. Lancelot didn’t particularly want to watch either, but somebody had to be there to hold her steady. He would do it, _for her_. After all, he had seen and done worse things than this.

***

Ari groaned and heaved and writhed in pain on her side, conscious but not aware. Lancelot didn’t know how to help her, he wasn’t the soothing type. He placed his hand carefully on her arm and in the most soft voice he could gather said, “It's okay, Ari,” he hushed lowly, “you’re alright.” He sighed, hoping that she could hear him.

“You’re alright,” he repeated as she gasped for air. Lancelot did not know how he was supposed to trust his mouth to find the right words, or if his voice was even a comfort or not to her, but he hoped that his meek offerings might have brought her some sense of safety. Her hands pawed at the ground for something to grasp onto and Lancelot put his palm in hers, giving her an anchor. Ari’s fingers squeezed around his hand tightly and he ignored the pain, it was nothing compared to what she had been through, what she was going through. Her skin was cold, _so cold_. She was practically frozen and he couldn't understand how she wasn't. _Faith_ , he repeated in his mind, _faith_.

Ari began to dip out of consciousness again. He needed to get a fire started or else she was only going to get worse, she was alive barely, but she was far from out of the woods.

Squirrel was taking a long time gathering the fire wood so Lancelot pulled her gently towards him without thinking, crossing the line between them. He felt a little awkward as he sat up and leant back against the tree, bringing her to lay across his thighs and up towards his body so that he could easily turn her in case she needed to be sick again. One of his arms crossed behind her back to hold her up whilst the other hooked under her knees. She opened her eyes for a second as she still fought for air, but her glazed over golden irises made Lancelot doubt that she was even aware of what was happening. Lancelot watched her carefully for what felt like eternity as he tried to control his own breaths. When her chest began to calm down, her head quickly rolled back against him and her eyes closed again. He looked up to the clouded sky, begging whatever was there to tell him what to do.

Lancelot unhooked his arm from under Ari's legs and put his hand to her neck to check for any signs of life that he knew of, _she’s so cold_. He tried to find where the blood staining what he could see of her forest green shirt was coming from but he couldn’t tell, _perhaps it wasn't her blood_. He looked down at her face, her skin almost matching the colour of her silvery white hair. He tried to bring her even closer into him but he was soaked through and cold as well, so he rubbed up and down her side with his hand gently instead as he curled her towards him. He felt guilty for holding her so close without her knowing but he was just trying to help her. 

Squirrel eventually came back with as much dry firewood as he could find amongst the snow, as well as Goliath who he had found wandering between the trees. He began to pile the twigs and branches up and tried to light them into a fire. It wasn’t working.

“I can’t do it,” the boy’s broken voice betrayed how worried he was, he knew how important the fire was and he was failing. His eyes looked up to Lancelot and pleaded with him. Without warning, Ari’s fingers twitched against Lancelot’s chest and his head snapped down to her.

“Ari?” He tried to get her to wake, shaking her lightly. Her fingers twitched again as her body shivered and it looked like she was reaching for her already uncovered palm, but he was sure that she was not awake. Lancelot just watched as her hand twitched once more and a spark lit the fire. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to start the embers going strongly. Her fingers relaxed and Lancelot felt the warmth of the fire start to tickle at the back of his hand on her side. Ari’s head rolled further into his chest as her body gave in, and instead of moving her, he let her stay that way. Lancelot hadn’t ever really thought about what it would be like to hold somebody close like this, but he knew that Ari almost dying was not the reason he would have wanted to warrant her being near to him in this way.

Squirrel fanned the fire as best as he could to keep it going and then came around to Ari’s feet, confusing Lancelot, until the man recognised that the boy was trying to take her boots off. Squirrel saw the questioning look that Lancelot was giving him.

“They need to dry out,” Squirrel explained then pulled back, “actually, _everything_ needs to dry out.” The boy grimaced at the thought of undressing her, and Lancelot eventually caught onto his meaning, his own cheeks rising faintly in a pink colour. He pushed his own embarrassment aside, it did not matter and now was not the time for it.

“You need to dry too,” Squirrel said, gesturing to the wet man.

“I’m fine,” Lancelot rebuked, shifting a little awkwardly, “let’s just get her warm.”

Lancelot sighed. If she couldn’t kill him before then she was definitely going to kill him now. Between them, they managed to get her empty sword belt, jacket and bodice unlaced off of her as well as her bloodied overshirt, leaving her with just her trousers and thin undershirt on, they were still damp and clung to her but it was going to have to do. They would not let her sit naked in the former monk’s arms, _save Lancelot’s embarrassment_ , the boy joked to himself briefly at their new situation. Lancelot found that he did not care for her lack of clothing as he once might have done, he was just focussed on getting her warm and looking up at him again.

Squirrel ran and pulled the half blanket from Goliath’s saddle. They wrapped her quickly in the fabric and then again in Lancelot’s cloak, covering her head to toe and placed her back into the man’s arms a little closer to the fire until she woke.

~•~

Ari could hear mutterings through the white noise that was ringing in her ears. She couldn’t quite make out the words but she recognised the voices. A strange numbness ran through her chest, it spread down her arms and throughout her entire body. She could feel that her legs were pulled up into her, and that she was wrapped head to toe in what felt like their blanket. She tried to lift her head up but something stopped her gently, cradling the side of her face.

“Hold still,” a gentle voice said, “try not to move.”

She could feel sunlight hitting her face but the concept of time was lost to her. Was it still morning? Or afternoon? She does not remember falling, nor hitting the water. It might have just been a dream, but the chill in her bones argued against this, _its just a dream_. She wished it was just a dream. She wanted to speak, her mouth even parted but she could not find any words for her throat was dry and painfully sore. She was tired, _so tired_. Her mind was so foggy and it pleaded with her to stop trying. Her head lulled sideways onto the mass of warmth pressed at her side and she slipped back to sleep to the sound of crackling embers and the soft rise and fall of a steady chest.

Squirrel had heard the man speak and had looked up across the fire over to where Lancelot was cradling Ari, her body nestled in the crook of his arm and her legs pulled up into herself. Dusty had wandered over to them at some point and the boy had grabbed the other half of the blanket they had found in the barn many days ago. He draped the fabric around Lancelot who was drying out fairly quickly despite this weather.

Squirrel knew that something had changed simply by the way Lancelot would not let her go. He had offered once to hold her steady so that Lancelot could have a break but the man quickly refused his offer. Squirrel didn’t understand adults, one minute they were fighting each other and the next they seemed to understand each other without even speaking. He realised that whatever was happening though, he liked it.

The monk was a hollow mess of a man when Squirrel had met him, his voice sounded like death and his words were harsh and cruel. But that had all changed when he had met her. They didn’t speak much at first but when they did, the monk was almost courteous and respectful, or at least that's how he was when Squirrel was around. He was little like he had been before. Sure there were moments where they got angry with each other but what else did he expect? He remembered how the monk had let him go in the woods, how he had tried to stop him from being taken to the evil Paladin with sewn up eyes. How he slit the Devil’s throat and undid the bounds at his wrists to get him out of the camp but then ended up almost dying himself. Back then he was all hard edges, and in truth it wasn’t even that long ago. But now Squirrel thought the Ash man was rough when he had to be and soft when he wanted to be, which was common around her. Squirrel smiled to himself as he watched the changing Lancelot unfold before his eyes.

“Are you mad at her?” Squirrel asked the Ash man from behind the fire. Lancelot’s eyes glanced slowly over to him.

“No,” he said. Lancelot's voice was characteristically small but it was tired, and the thrumming in his head was growing strong. Fighting against the Paladins who severely outnumbered him and then against the river had taken so much energy out of him.

“But _you are_ angry?” Squirrel looked concernedly at the man. 

Lancelot’s jaw clenched and he cast his eyes away. Yes, he was mad actually. She should not have tried to sacrifice herself for them, _for him._ He had tried to stop her but it did not work, and he hated that he was just going to let her walk away like that. She chose to leave them. She chose to surrender herself to her own death, _for them_. He had become terribly uncomfortable and his muscles ached sorely but he would not put her down, because if he let her go then he might lose her, and he didn’t want to lose her.

“You’re allowed to care about her, Lancelot,” Squirrel hushed as he leant closer, seeing how Lancelot’s mind was turning, “you don’t have to be ashamed about it.” The boy’s voice suddenly made him sound much wiser than he was beyond his years.

Lancelot looked up slowly to see the boy smiling sadly at him, _that_ was all he had ever been taught to do. The church had taught him to be ashamed of everything that he was by nature, to strive to be something impossibly perfect for a lowly, demon born. If he was human it would have been easier but he was Fey, and everything that he was in his very existence was a sin in their eyes. It did not matter that they didn’t know his most kept secret because _he_ knew it.

Lancelot looked down at the sleeping woman in his arms. The amulet hanging around her neck had miraculously stayed with her, the wooden leaf veined with gold resting over her shirt. Squirrel averted his eyes, giving Lancelot the safety of privacy.

He was at a crossroad, not knowing which way to turn. He had never cared for anyone the way he was caring for her now. It felt irrational, but his head was not governing what his heart was telling him, the lines between them were becoming blurred. He suddenly felt feelings that he had never been allowed to know. _What am I supposed to do?_ It had started out as a little _something_ , how she looked at him, how she made him smile in a way he had never smiled before. He hadn’t realised it until he almost lost her to the water. He couldn’t figure out what this was between them, what she was to him, _what he wanted her to be_.

Lancelot lowered his face so slowly that he didn’t quite realise he was doing it until his nose nuzzled into her hair, and his cheek pressed gently to her forehead. It dawned on him then just how close he was to losing her for forever that day. Perhaps it was just his exhaustion but a lone tear fell from his eyes and landed on her skin as he held her to his chest. Then again, perhaps it was something more.

~•~

The afternoon soon grew darker and Ari had still not woken up fully. She had stirred on several occasions, opening her glazed golden eyes and Lancelot readjusted her when she did, making her comfortable only for her to fall back into a deeper sleep. Each time that she opened her eyes he felt a glimmer of hope that she would look at him, but the meeting never came.

He uncovered her arm from beneath the covers and pressed her palm into the dirt a couple of times, hoping that her body might instinctively react to the earth. The golden glow came faintly occasionally and it was enough to keep her heart beating as she warmed in his arms by the fire. Perhaps this is what the Druid had meant, when she had said that the fate of the Fey would one day be on his shoulders.

Squirrel kept a close eye on Ari’s clothes by the fire. He laid them out over sticks and turned them, making sure that they dried out as best as they could. At one point he got up and went to the river bank, looking around to see if he could spot Ari’s cloak which she had lost in the water. His foot got caught in something and he bent down, poking at the something in the dirt.

Lancelot watched him closely, he didn’t like how near the boy was getting to the muddy edge in the growing darkness.

“Squirrel,” he said dryly and the boy turned around, “come back.”

“But I was looking for her cloak, it has to dry,” the boy said almost desperately as he turned back to the water. Lancelot sighed, knowing that they likely wouldn’t find it.

“We’ll search in the morning,” he said to pacify the boy. Squirrel kept his eyes on the water for a moment before he stood and turned and walked back to the fire with his head hung lowly. Lancelot could see the dejection on his face, the child just wanted to help.

“Are you hungry?” Lancelot asked. The boy looked up and his stomach grumbled reflexively, he had been so worried about Ari that he had forgotten all about food. He nodded eagerly.

“There's bread still in the bag,” Lancelot looked to Goliath briefly.

Squirrel’s eyes widened, remembering the loaf that they had purchased the day before. He scrambled over and reached up on his toes to find what was left of the bread. Lancelot exhaled, he knew that there wasn’t much left and he would want Squirrel to take it all. He had survived for longer without food than the boy, he was used to it by now.

Lancelot still held onto Ari in his arms. He kept his eyes peeled open even though they begged him to be shut. He had never been scared of the quiet that came with darkness before, he’d actually always revelled in it, in the calm before the storm. But now he was terrified of the silence, not for himself but for Ari and the boy. Their enemy had crept up on them in the night and he had failed to notice. He felt his scars tug at him across his back, scorning him for being so foolish. Lancelot pushed his darker thoughts away, _no_ , he did not want that anymore, he just wanted to protect them.

~•~

Lancelot did a double take and glanced back towards where his eyes had just skimmed over the trees. It was far away and he did not know quite what he thought it was that he saw in the darkness. He gripped onto Ari tighter, holding her closer. A shadow crept forward, stepping out of the darkness but disappeared back just as quickly as it had appeared. It looked like a man, and the presence of another whilst they were so vulnerable was not good.

“Watch over Ari,” he said, putting her down gently, his arms feeling odd as they suddenly were without her weight. He lay the warm blanket which was around his shoulders over her.

“What? Where are you going?” Squirrel looked up, half asleep as he shuffled over to steady Ari.

Lancelot bent forward and lit the makeshift torch the boy had built earlier, “I’ll be back soon, keep the bow close.” He pointed to said bow on the ground beside them.

“You can’t leave her,” the boy pleaded, propping her head up into his lap.

Lancelot looked down at her frame bundled beneath all the layers they could give her, including his cloak. Is leaving her worth the risk? He had to know what danger was following them. With regret, he glanced at the boy and turned away.

“I won’t be long.”

He knew that Ari would shout at him for leaving Squirrel and her unconscious body alone whilst he stalked off into the woods, but he needed to take the risk, he needed to know what was following them.

Lancelot moved the torch through the air, scanning the trees as his feet tread silently over the ground, a skill he was well versed in. His sword hung braced by his side in his spare hand. He had passed the spot where he thought he saw someone and had carried on walking, he could sense that whatever was out there was still there. He felt like he’d been here before, and he had, days ago when they slept at the barn and he rode off into the woods only to be met with the same feeling.

“You don’t want to play games with me,” he threatened, the voice of the Weeping Monk seeping back through, but was met with silence. The light from the torch illuminated the trees as Lancelot turned slowly, deciphering between each of his senses. _The scent_ , it was familiar, too close for comfort as if it were a part of his own being. The light snow crunched beneath his feet as he twisted, eyes scanning at the darkness between the trees. The scent caught him again and his head jerked in the direction it came from.

“I know you,” Lancelot said lowly, taking a step forward as he held the torch in front of him. It could have been a question if he weren’t almost sure that he did.

“You do,” a flat, measured voice came from somewhere and Lancelot twisted towards it, his ears tuning to the sound which reverberated through the forest. His eyebrows furrowed like he was straining to remember, it had been a long time since the scent was so clear and he recognised now where it was from.

“I fought you, years ago?” Lancelot’s hand flexed around his sword.

“You did,” the voice answered from the darkness.

The presence Lancelot felt but could not place a few mornings ago, _it was the voice_ , it must have been. _His invisible shadow_. The two syllable answers were beginning to annoy Lancelot, those had usually been his forte. He narrowed his eyes at the trees.

“Who are you?” Lancelot's voice dropped deeper as his frustrations grew. 

It took a few moments but the figure stepped forwards slowly from out beneath the cloud of darkness that the torch’s light had not reached. Lancelot drew his sword upwards as a reflex, these kinds of encounters usually didn’t end well for his enemies.

The figure came to a stand still. It was a man, taller than Lancelot and holding himself proudly. He slowly tilted his cloaked head up, golden eyes reflecting in the torch light warmly beneath pale skin. Then he reached up cautiously and pulled the hood of his cloak down to reveal himself, and it was then that Lancelot knew. He _knew_ that face.

Lancelot’s eyes were wide, his breathing a little heavy.

“Ari-” he exhaled.  
  


“Is my daughter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HER FATHER IS ALIVE!? I bet you didn’t see that one coming but I kind of hope that maybe you did… Its something I have been hinting at with the shadows following Lancelot and the familiar things that he could sense (and the talk of her father was not for nothing, lol), but I couldn’t do it too obviously for reasons you will read next...  
> AND HE SAVED HER, he legit threw himself into a river, used his powers, dragged her out, pulled her to him, kept her warm, cried for her, and he saved her. This is a man who has never saved anyone in his lifetime.


	19. shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ari begins to heal and Lancelot is left with more questions than answers. Squirrel tries to do the right thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW// mild reference to drowning and referenced character death  
> AN// this chapter is long, I apologise.  
> Comments are greatly appreciated x

[[Moodboard](https://captainbucky-yt.tumblr.com/post/643665846309388288/youre-not-what-i-was-looking-for-the-weeping)]

He watched as the figure cloaked in red drag the young Fey away. He had his sword, he could have helped him. There were only a few, he could have taken them easily. He had already fought through the halls and made it out to the trees around the castle safely, but the hand on his shoulder held him back. They watched as the child was bound, beat, and dragged roughly away behind a horse. He vowed on The Hidden to never forget how he could have saved that Fey boy, _Ban’s boy_.

~

They scouted the camp as close as they dared, taking no chances with the reds. The King’s eyes drifted and he saw a child not much older than his daughter, wielding a sword with such skill it was frightening. It was clear that the boy had been forged into a singular weapon. He did not wear red like the others, donned in grey and black, lines marking down his face like paint. It was not clear, he couldn’t be sure. But he remembered the face of a similar boy, _Ban’s boy_. The weapon danced through the air and parried every strike that came down on him with ease, his overly large hood hiding his face from the world.

~

An attack came on a nearby village. His daughter wanted to come, she wanted to wet her steel but the King would not allow it. He rode out along with fifteen of his best. The Paladins outnumbered them two to one but the King’s swords were better than the red men ever could hope to be. They dispatched them swiftly and the village was almost safe again when a shadow stepped out from amongst the smoke. The weapon held out his sword, daring the Fey King to come closer. He recognised him then, how the boy was now a man. Taller, _powerful_. The lines on his face and hands made him look older beyond his years. The tears, his weeping eyes. The first blow came and the weapon was strong. Controlled and measured. Graceful but with purpose. The weapon was a contradiction. The figure battled the King, a man more than twice his age under the cover of the ashes and smoke. The Fey matched the strength of the shadow and more. He overpowered him, and the grey monk crashed into the dirt and for the first time, the King saw its face beneath the hood fully. He saw the younger face of a man he once knew staring back at him, recognised the weeping eyes, _Ban’s boy_.

 _The one he didn’t save_.

~

The old Druid’s words were bold, “Listen to me, you must keep the boy safe. He is destined for so much more.” She gripped onto the King’s hands. She told him of what she had seen in the fires, what she knew of the fates to come.

“What must I do?” The King asked. She told him.

“He cannot know,” she said. “They must not know.”

~

The King kissed his daughter on the head and told her goodbye, promising to bring back a fat deer for her and her friends.

“Born in the dawn,” he said as he held her close.

“To pass in the twilight,” she replied as she hugged him tight.

~•~

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Squirrel said as Lancelot came back to their camp, sword still in hand. The moon was high overhead and he couldn’t tell for just how long he was gone.

“Perhaps I did," he responded vaguely, and Squirrel looked at him with a confused brow. Lancelot ignored the child, sheathing his blade and moving to sit beside Ari. He pressed the back of his hand to her cheek gently, she was warming up but she was still cold. Then he noticed it, how her face was the same as her father’s. He didn’t know how he hadn’t recognised it before, and it tugged at the waters of his eyes. The world had always treated him like he was heartless, as if there was nothing inside of him worth caring for. But he wasn’t made of stone, the truth was that he felt everything, _strongly_ , and he hid it from the world because it made it all easier. It made his life easier to feel nothing.

Squirrel saw the look on Lancelot’s face. He reached over and put his hand on the man’s shoulder, trying to offer some kind of reassurance.

“She’s going to be okay,” the boy said optimistically.

Lancelot’s eyes went to the child, he should not have to be dealing with things like this at his young age. The boy should not have to be trying to comfort a grown man at his age. Lancelot lifted his hand and patted it over the boy’s on his shoulder.

“Here,” Lancelot said, stifling a sniffle from the cold and shifting to take Ari from the young one's care. “Get some sleep,” he pulled the top blanket off of Ari and handed it to Squirrel.

“But she’ll get cold,” the boy protested, his eyes widening with worry as he looked up to Lancelot.

Lancelot smiled sympathetically, “She'll be fine. I’ve got her.”

~•~

They made it through the night but Lancelot did not sleep, h _e couldn’t._ The first day went by at an uneventful snail’s pace as they sat and waited for Ari to wake up within the man's arms. Ari came round from her unconsciousness every now and then, _hazily_ , but she woke all the same. Lancelot felt like he could actually breathe again the first time that her golden eyes focussed on him as he still held her too his chest. She mumbled something up at him and he couldn’t recognise the phrase, is was not the common tongue. He tried not to frown at her as her eyes closed again and her head lulled into the crook of his elbow once more. He thought that perhaps a fever was taking her but she was not burning up.

Lancelot had walked back up the hill after morning on the second day to where the Paladins lay as food for the worms. He was reluctant to let Ari go after she'd slept still curled in his arms, but he needed to move the Paladins out of anyone's potential view.

He’d gathered some supplies that were in the Paladin horses’ saddlebags, _food_ mainly. They hadn’t wandered far and seemed quite content to munch at grass poking up between the wet snow. He found the rope that they had tried to bind Ari with, some half eaten scraps of bread and a few small wrapped blocks of cheese. Since he’d been one of them, he knew exactly where to look as all Paladins were inherently the same. He pulled out a couple of water skins which he discarded since they already had their own, and a small blade. It wasn’t any good for him but maybe it could be for Ari or the boy. He felt some fabric within one of the bags and pulled it out. Surprisingly, and conveniently, it was a semi-clean shirt with a few patches of dried dirt on which he brushed off with his fingers. He held it up, it looked a little big but it would probably do.

Lancelot piled the things and went about moving the dead Paladins. He used his horse and the new rope to drag them across to behind the tree line out of sight. The snow from the day before had melted, taking their blood with it into the ground which now stained red. He recognised Ari’s dagger embedded in the neck of one of the Paladins and pulled it out with a bit of effort from the frozen stiff body. He wiped the blade on the red cloak and tucked it into his belt.

The pair walked up to the outcrop of land with the last two Paladins laying lifeless. Goliath pulled them most of the way and Lancelot pushed them the rest over the ledge and into the river. He watched them as they fell and landed with a thud into the water. It was a miracle that Ari somehow had no obvious injuries, _perhaps the Paladin had broken her fall._ He didn't need to ask how she even went over the edge because he saw it, he saw Ari kick at the ground and roll them over to stop the Paladin's blade from running her through. Lancelot stood and just breathed for a moment at the memory reliving in his mind, then he turned around and found her sword still bloodied on the ground. He sighed as he picked it up and brought it back with him to their makeshift camp.

When Ari was more fully awake and somewhat stable, Lancelot took the bow and hunted for anything to eat, again leaving Ari with Squirrel. He came back from one direction with an unfortunate rabbit and since Ari was still conscious when he returned, he then stalked off quickly in the other direction. He was starting to feel worse than tired but he just kept on placing one foot in front of the other and moved forward, focussing on finding another catch for them to eat. He was back at their camp half an hour later with another unfortunate rabbit.

Ari hissed lowly at the aches rattling through her body as she went to try and take the rabbits so that she could prepare them, but Lancelot stopped her. _I’ll do it,_ he had told her, she was barely awake and should definitely not be handling a blade or fire. Ari conceded reluctantly, she didn’t like feeling this useless. Every time he saw her close her eyes for more than a second he tensed and asked her unnecessarily if she was feeling alright, and it was starting to annoy her, but she would not say anything of it, he was just concerned.

Squirrel had done well with drying out her clothes by the fire. He gave her back her dried socks and boots, bodice and jacket, as well as the shirt that Lancelot had brought back in the morning. He helped her when she needed it and apologised for undressing her in the first place, and also for the fact that he couldn’t find her cloak by the river. Ari just shrugged his apologies off weakly as she struggled to put the clothes back on, telling him that he’d done the right thing, they’d saved her life.

Lancelot kept his hands busy, for if he stopped then he would have to think about what he had been asked to do, about the impossible secret that he had been told to keep, another one to pile on top of the mountain that he already kept close to his chest. He wanted to tell her, _desperately,_ but Ari would think he was mad in the head, he was being cruel and playing tricks on her. No, he couldn't tell her, not whilst she was like this.

Lancelot had walked away from the darkness with more questions than answers that night. Nothing made sense, _he_ was to blame for Ari’s father leaving her, for abandoning their people when they had needed him most. He couldn’t look at Ari, _he wouldn’t_. He was lying to her and it had started to torture him in the silence that filled their small camp. Lancelot unlaced his tunic and bent down to the river, scrubbing away at the blood of the Paladins which had dried there. Most of it had washed away when he went in the water to save her but some still stained, a reminder of how he failed her. His mind turned over and over, if Ari knew what he now knew then she would run, she would search and she would try and find him, her father. It was selfish for Lancelot to think it, but he wanted her to stay... _with him_.

_“Ari-”_

_“Is my daughter.”_

_Lancelot faltered as his sword balanced out towards the man, the Sunborn's long hair shining like fresh snow under the glow of the torch in Lancelot's hand. His daughter, she thought he was dead, she had mourned for him, but he had left her._

_“Is she alright?” The man repeated as Lancelot did not hear him the first time._

_Lancelot shook his head, ignoring the question, “You left her.” He was just about keeping his composure, a protective bitterness rising in his voice. The man had no right to ask about her, not anymore, she was no longer his concern. He had left her._

_“I did what had to be done,” the figure responded quickly, practically without emotion as he stood there still in the snow._

_“You left her!” Lancelot raised his voice higher defensively in a way that he never had done before, starting to unravel at the edges. It unnerved him, his emotions had crept up on him so slowly that when they hit, he did not know what to do to tame them. Her father had hurt Ari and right now she was Lancelot's to defend, so defend her he would. The man’s face shifted to something darker, it was obvious that Lancelot had jabbed at a nerve._

_“To keep you safe,” the man narrowed his eyes at him. Lancelot silenced, what is he talking about? To keep me safe?_

_“What are you saying?” Lancelot’s hand flexed around the torch. The Sunborn sighed lightly as if he was fighting for the right words within his mind._

_“I have seen you many times since you were a child, though I did not recognise who exactly you were until we came face to face," the man's head lowered as he spoke and for the first time in a long time, Lancelot started to feel small. He didn't understand what he was saying, how could he have seen him as a child? But he_ _realised then where exactly he had known the figure from, from where he had recognised his scent._

_“That was many summers ago,” he said sceptically and the man nodded in return. “You let me live,” Lancelot spoke with caution, his head twisting as he figured the Fey out, remembering that blood and smoke filled day._

_“Yes.”_

_“Why? You should have killed me,” Lancelot practically growled out his words, his teeth biting together, hand gripping tighter on his sword._

_It took a moment for the man to respond, his voice remaining more trained than Lancelot’s was doing. He could see the confusion that the Ash man was trying to hide, he knew that it might not make sense but there was little that he could give away. _

_“I was there when they took you in the Burning Night, I saw the Paladins take you from the castle,” the Sunborn paused, feeling ashamed._ _“I was not strong enough to save you then. I felt guilty, seeing what they had turned you into, seeing the pain that they had caused you," the Ash man's face twisted but an inch and the Sunborn knew that he had touched a nerve, "knowing that I could have prevented it.”_

_Lancelot stared at him as he explained so vaguely that he was only getting even more confused. He saw them take me? Saw them turn me into this monster? His mouth went dry as he forgot how to speak. The Sunborn dared to step closer towards him._

_“You were never alone. Even when you felt like you were,” he said with a softness you would not expect from a man of his stature. He hoped that the monk would hear what he was saying, that even when he felt like he was abandoned and lost, he was not alone._

_The shadow, Lancelot had always felt like there was a shadow walking with him with each of his footsteps. Father Carden had said it was their God watching over him and guiding him to salvation, but Lancelot had not quite believed it. He once caught a fever when he was alone and wounded, sheltering within the forest. He does not remember much but he remembered the vague figure that kept him alive, the figure that haunted him still now in his dreams._

_“It was you, the shadow at my side,” Lancelot lowered his sword slowly, “it was you.” His face contorted into some kind of sorrow as he fitted the pieces together aloud._

_The Sunborn nodded solemnly, “The Druid said that I was to keep you safe. That is why I left my camp.”_

_Lancelot breathed heavily as he realised that he was the reason the king had abandoned Ari, why he had left her alone to rule over their people by herself. It felt like too much, it was a lot to take in. Lancelot shifted, struggling to understand as his eyes fell away._

_“I murdered your people, and you did nothing?” He accused with a bitterness to his tone, his face scrunching in anger as it came back up. All of the things that Ari had said about her father, about how good of a king that he was but he just stood by and let Lancelot murder his own kind. It didn’t make sense, he didn’t believe it. What kind of a king would abandon their people to die?_

_“I could not interfere,” the Fey retorted quickly, tensing._

_“Why?” Lancelot pushed, raising his voice harshly._

_“Because it is written!” The voice of the king rose above him and Lancelot braced the sword higher again in response. The Fey did not back down from his warning, he spoke hastily,_

_“Your life is destined to be something else, something greater, and you could not fulfil it without everything that has happened. I could not stop you.” Pain flashed across the Sunborn's face. It had tortured him for years that he could not help his kind, for any and all of his actions regarding Lancelot would change the fates._

_Lancelot just looked at him, not knowing whether the Sunborn king was a coward or simply foolish as his blue eyes burned holes into gold. He scoffed, something greater, he did not deserve such a thing. His understanding started to unravel again._

_The Sunborn stepped forward impatiently and his chest met the point of Lancelot’s sword, “You must not tell Arianne what you know.” He was not afraid of the weapon before him, nor of the sword that he wielded._

_“I cannot do that,” Lancelot twisted his head defiantly. He would not keep this a secret from her._

_“You must,” the old king pushed._

_“I will not lie to her,” Lancelot gripped the sword tighter, twisting it about its point as he felt his temper rising. The King blinked and understood then, that his only daughter meant something to the man, to Ban’s boy._

_“I have already taken a risk in revealing this much, Lancelot,” he lowered his voice, stepping away from the end of the blade._

_Lancelot’s eyes widened at his name, and he felt himself lowering his sword. He had no words. How does he know my name?_

_The man pulled his shoulders back, standing taller, his hands clasped firmly behind his back._

_“There will come a time when the fate of the Fey kind will rest upon your shoulders,” he said and Lancelot recognised the phrasing, the Druid’s words. What is going on?_

_A young voice called for Lancelot in the distance and they both looked towards it and then back to each other._

_“I cannot say anything more,” The old Fey King took a step back, then two, and then turned, leaving Lancelot dumbfounded in the snow. Was that it, was that all he was going to say?_

_“Where are you going?” Lancelot called lowly to him, his raspy voice cutting through the air._

_“There is somewhere I must be.” The Sunborn had almost disappeared into the trees when he stopped and looked back over his shoulder._

_“Keep my daughter safe?”_

_Lancelot’s face tilted upwards, he waited for a moment then nodded, a promise. When he blinked, the figure was gone._

~•~

Two and a half days, that’s how long he has been awake. His head ached from the pressure building inside of his skull, he had not felt this way for a long time. He was used to intermittent sleep, it was just another part of his life on the road, travelling in between camps for the last however many years, he had lost count by now. He doesn’t know where the energy to stay alert like this was coming from as he walked through the trees, he was sure that he had long used up his reserves and was just running on the last few flickering embers of the dying fire inside of him now. The tears under his eyes were darker than usual and his face felt like it was hollowing out. The overwhelming urge to just roll his eyes back, it was so simple, but he pushed it away. He tamed it all the way down and locked it in a bone cage. No, he would not close his eyes. He was good at that, at restraint. There was a time when he wasn’t and he lashed out at whoever came near him, at anyone who dared to come close enough to be reached by the demon born.  _ You will stay here until you can control yourself boy_ _._ Control. 

_ Control_ . 

He twisted his head and pulled at the tightness in his neck, an afterthought from holding his head upright for so long. Have control.  _ Stand up taller, lift your head up, hide your face, show them you have no fear, fear them, show them nothing, be strong, don’t fear them, you are weak, you will always be alone, God is with you, lift your sword, cut it down, kill each one of them, save their souls, cleanse the land, bloody the land, _ have control. His dry eyes rolled back into his head before he opened them and looked to the clouded sky.  _ I am going to ask you this only once, help me? Help me to help them?  _

The air creeped through the branches of the canopy up above. He waited, and he listened for a sign.

Lancelot came back from scouting between the trees in the afternoon, a hand rubbing across his forehead with his feet barely clearing over the ground. He lifted his eyes up and all he felt was frustration mixed with pain.

“Squirrel!” He shouted at the boy.

Squirrel startled and almost fell over in the dirt where he crouched as he twisted towards Lancelot’s voice.

“Get away from the water!” Lancelot raised his hoarse voice as he strode a little too quickly across their camp over towards the boy at the river’s edge. Squirrel didn’t move to stand up from where he was crouched, gesturing down to the water.

“But I was just-” he started to protest, beginning to cower under the man’s intense glare.

“Now,” Lancelot growled a little too harshly.

Ari looked up to him sternly as he walked past her but she couldn’t find the energy to speak. She wouldn’t berate him for his tone just now, the man was practically as exhausted as she was, they all were. She noticed something had shifted in him, he was watching the trees more than usual, walking out and scouting more than he ever had done as if he was searching for something. She did not recall anything really from the day before and perhaps he had been the same way then. It was almost painful seeing him anxious this way, she wanted him to just, _stop_.

Squirrel started to step away from the river and met Lancelot as he strode angrily towards him. He was used to being told off for things that he shouldn’t be doing and he usually shrugged it off, but this, the tone in Lancelot’s voice, it felt different.

“What were you thinking?” Lancelot scolded him for being so close to the flowing river whilst he was not there to keep watch, after everything that had happened the boy should know better. His hands twitched down by his sides, his common giveaway that he was frustrated. They had almost lost Ari to the water and he wasn’t going to lose Squirrel that way either. The boy wouldn’t meet his eyes but he could see the fear on the child’s face.

Squirrel hung his head low beneath Lancelot’s fiery glare, he knew that Lancelot was just tired and being protective. He brought his hand round from behind his back.

“I found it the other day,” he said weakly and raised his hand between them, “I just wanted to clean it before I gave it back to you.” Lancelot frowned and looked down.

 _His amulet_ , he had not realised that he had lost it. His heart sank within his chest as he recognised what the boy was doing. He was exhausted, he shouldn’t have spoken to him that way, given all that the child had been through. He started to crouch before Squirrel, elbows resting over his knees as he let his expression soften. He had promised himself that he would never hurt the boy, never act like Carden had done with _him_ , but he realised then just how much his tone had resembled the Father’s, and he remembered how badly he felt in those situations as a boy.

“I am sorry, Squirrel. I should not have raised my voice at you.” Lancelot said, lowering his tone to some place gentler so that Squirrel knew that he meant it. He was learning slowly how to navigate his relationship with the boy, but he was bound to make mistakes.

“You don’t want me near the water.” Squirrel said quietly, eyes watching his feet as they shuffled in the snow.

“No, I do not.” Lancelot sighed, “I want you to be safe.”

Squirrel looked up to Lancelot’s eyes in front of his. A weak smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and he sniffled shyly. He reached both of his hands up and placed the amulet around Lancelot’s neck as the man lowered his face to make it easier. He half smiled warmly at Lancelot as his hands came back down to his sides.

“Thank you, Squirrel,” Lancelot lifted his head back up. The boy looked to him, and he couldn’t understand why the child seemed like he was about to cry. Then Squirrel’s breath shook and he flung his arms around Lancelot’s neck suddenly, chin resting on his shoulder. Lancelot stiffened, he didn’t know what he was supposed to do, he couldn’t remember the last time that he had been hugged.

His arm came up slowly and circled the small child’s waist over his leathered cloak. Lancelot put Squirrel’s embrace down to a reaction to everything that had happened. He knew that the boy was an orphan, _which was his fault,_ he knew that he missed his parents and that he was still grieving for them, no matter how much he covered it up, Lancelot had been the same way when he was young. Perhaps almost losing Ari had been too much. 

He cleared his throat after a moment and Squirrel pulled back carefully, trying to hide his sniffle with humour. Squirrel clasped his hands back around his back and tried to puff up his chest.

“Erh, if anyone asks, that didn’t happen, okay you ugly lump?”

Lancelot just smiled crookedly at him. He stood back onto his feet and gripped a hand around the boy’s shoulder, leading him back to the camp and away from the river.

It was not long before Lancelot was pacing around the camp again, watching out in every which way and direction his eyes could see.

“You need to rest, you’ve been awake for days.” Ari’s voice croaked and she was barely audible, trying to get his attention. Though it was short, it was one of the few sentences that she had said successfully since waking. She knew that even on the rare occasions when Lancelot’s head was back and his eyes were closed that he wasn’t actually sleeping. Her head and stomach ached and she craved sleep for herself, but Lancelot was no use to them or himself as a walking ghost.

“I’m fine,” Lancelot huffed as he paced around, checking their surroundings. He was keeping all of his senses on hyper alert after what had happened, and combined with looking after Ari and Squirrel, it was draining him. He was not fine, he had not slept at all since the morning of their ambush and he was now running on empty after over two days.

Ari timed her words carefully for when he came past her. _Hidden he is stubborn,_ she thought to herself _._

“ _Lance, please_ ,” she never thought that she would beg him for anything and the pleading in her strained voice would have surprised her if her mind had the energy to do so. He stopped when she reached and caught onto the edge of his cloak at his side, the cloak which she had been wearing for days. It took all of her little energy left to do so and she almost collapsed over on herself. She'd never felt this before, _so weak_ , like one gust of wind could just carry her off with it.

Lancelot turned immediately and crouched to her side to stop her from falling, but she had already let go of his cloak and braced herself on her outstretched hand in the dirt. His face was mere inches from hers and he could barely see the gold in her eyes. The pleading in her voice broke his heart, she had never spoken to him like that before.

“Squirrel is here,” she breathed, “we will be fine.” That didn’t exactly fill Lancelot with confidence. It’s not that he didn’t trust Squirrel, it’s just that the boy was not a man like him, he could not sense danger in the air and he was too easily distracted. He could not fight if something crept up on them again. Lancelot's eyes protested as he looked down at her.

Ari continued weakly, “The meat will not be done for a while, _rest_.” He just stared at her with those reddened, hollow eyes and it was starting to get on her trembling nerves. Her eyelids fluttered but she kept her sights on him.

Lancelot sighed heavily and turned his face to Squirrel. The boy was boasting the insistent expression that Ari probably would have done if she wasn’t so focussed on putting her energy into just simply breathing. Lancelot started to speak to the boy.

“If something happens-”

“I’ll wake you, _I know_.”

Lancelot swallowed the lump in his throat, he could feel the earth pulling him down towards it. Something moved in the corner of his eye and as he turned he saw Ari shrugging off one of the blankets from her shoulders. He narrowed his eyes and his lips went to protest but she just balled up the blanket haphazardly and put it on the ground beside her, _a pillow_.

“Sleep,” she said and turned her face up to the rabbits roasting over the fire, signalling that the conversation was over.

Lancelot bit down and adjusted the balled up blanket slightly on the ground. He started to lay down onto his side and turned away from her, feeling his eyelids growing heavier and heavier with each second that he allowed himself to finally relax.

Ari listened as his breaths evened out. He fell into a deeper sleep than usual fairly quickly and she was glad about it. He didn’t just _need_ the rest, he deserved it after the things he had done for all of them in the last few days.

She looked down to him, at how the lines on his face had faded away. She knew he would not sleep for long, and likely wouldn’t sleep in the night either. It took a great deal of strength that she wasn’t used to needing to lift her hand and place it on his forehead delicately, she tried not to wake him but he didn’t even flinch. Squirrel noticed her movement from across the fire.

“What are you doing?” He asked quietly.

“Helping him,” she whispered back.

Her other hand went into the ground and she felt her heartbeat grow stronger as she pulled the life of the earth up through her veins and gave it freely to Lancelot. She didn’t know how much of a difference that it would make but it would help him regain strength and give him some respite whilst he slept. Her palm glowed dimly as the patchwork of her veins turned a weak golden, Lancelot’s skin beneath her palm did the same and the warm yellows complemented his complexion.

Squirrel watched her cautiously, not knowing if she was going to suddenly find her own strength or collapse to the ground. He kept one eye on the rabbit cooking and another on her.

Ari kept her palm to Lancelot’s forehead for as long as she was able until she couldn't take it any longer, dropping her hand to the ground so she could lean into it for support. Her body would not have felt the toll of her powers so badly if it had been any other normal day. She looked back down to him and he did not stir, so she left him to sleep in peace until their meal was done.

~•~

The boy was fast asleep and contempt by the fire, curled up beneath one of the blankets. The sun had disappeared hours ago and now they were only left with the moonlight and the flickers of the fire to brighten their small camp in the clearing.

“Why did you do it?” A raspy voice croaked almost inaudibly beside Lancelot. They sat close to each other in front of the fire, Ari had not gravitated far from him since waking up fully, as if her body and mind knew that Lancelot was her safety. She had drained herself even further of her own energy when she had helped him sleep earlier, but she did not regret what she had done.

He turned his face to her, she was wrapped within the blanket and wearing all of her dried out clothes. She was groggy, weary, and weak and Lancelot could see how she was barely holding herself up. He furrowed his eyebrows, _do what?_

“You could have drowned,” she croaked again, sensing his confusion. There was something behind her words, some kind of sadness he had not heard in her voice before.

“I could not let you die,” he said.

Ari silenced for a moment, feeling a hundred weights on her chest. She didn’t know that _this_ heaviness was what the emotional toll would be like after narrowly escaping death. It had hit her earlier but not as bad as this. A tear rolled down her barely warm cheek.

“You shouldn’t have gone in the water,” she said, fearing that the past would repeat itself to mock her. Lancelot’s eyebrows threaded together.

“Then you would be dead,” he looked across her face shied away from him. He recalled how he saw her fall, how she was the one to push them over the edge. He stopped his mind from wandering to the dark thoughts that he had so many times before. 

“I lost someone because he drowned,” she responded quickly, her face turning partially towards him, voice cold yet full of warmth and concern like she was worried that she would have lost Lancelot in the same way. It was strange, for they had not known each other for that long in reality, perhaps only a month by now. She could not comprehend these feelings, and she would not say it but she didn’t want to lose him.

“I know,” Lancelot sighed quietly, remembering how she had said so before. “And _we_ almost lost _you_ ,” he added with an uncommon emphasis in his voice. He remembered that feeling from two days ago when it dawned on him that she had almost died, how he pressed his face into her hair and let a tear fall for her. If he thought about it, he could still feel her on his cheek, the weight of her in his arms, her head resting against his chest. His almost grief seemed only a fraction of what Ari was feeling now.

“We were going to be joined.” Ari doesn’t know why she told him that. Lancelot’s head turned quickly to her, wide-eyed. _She was going to be married?_

_They were due to be joined shortly when in a strike of naivety, for she knew that he could not swim, she dared him to jump into the water. When he protested she had said that she would do it too. She would hold his hand and they would jump together. They were going to spend the rest of their lives with each other anyway, so what better way to start. In a bid to impress, he gathered up his courage and tumbled off of the edge without her and into the lake below. She watched as she leaned over the ledge with a grin as she waited for him to come up, but he didn’t. Under her palms she felt the earth change. She felt the darkness. She screamed his name and ran down to the lake, she stumbled but she made it._

_She crawled into the water and searched for him, screaming for somebody to help. A young Tusk was nearby and saw that she was in trouble, he recognised the princess and ran over to help her. Together, they found her intended and pulled him up out of the water onto the dirt. Ari tried and tried but in all of her brokenness she could not control her powers enough to send the energy to him from the ground. She was too weak, and he was already gone. She ran away to a rock face and smashed her palms against it, cursing the markings on her wrists for failing her as she screamed. And now she keeps those palms and marks covered, unveiling them only when absolutely necessary. She can still see the scars on her palms from that day. She swore she would never let herself make that stupid mistake again, or ever let her heart belong to someone who would risk it all for her ever again._

“We were going to be joined.”

Lancelot shifted beside her, his elbow bumping into her arm accidentally, prompting him to retract. He doesn’t know _why_ , he had held her for hours and hours when she was asleep, but this was different. He had never thought of her needing somebody like that, a partner, _a husband_. Ari seemed like somebody who was just fine on her own, she had said that the Sunborn line would die with her and perhaps she had meant it. But maybe he was wrong, he had thought of himself the same way too, but she was changing his mind about being alone.

“ _Benni,_ his name was,” she started, staring out in a trance to the flickering embers of the fire. “He jumped into a lake because I dared him to,” she shook her head slowly, eyes watering as her voice broke, “he never came back up.” If it wasn't obvious that she blamed herself for his death then it certainly was now.

Lancelot glanced at her face, she looked like a spirit had pulled the life from her bones. Her skin was pale, her cheek was bruised, and her eyes were duller than he had ever seen them before. He understood now that this was another part of her grief, another thing to add to the list of moments that she loathed herself for.

“You loved him?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

Ari nodded, and then she choked out a sob. Her throat made a noise as she tried to hold it back. _Love_ , Lancelot did not understand the emotion, but felt like maybe he was starting to. He had thought that maybe he knew familial love, Father Carden had called him his son, and fathers were supposed to love their sons, but it was all just a lie. Though romantic love, _eros_ as the Greeks called it, that new ground was only just now breaking beneath him and he wasn't even realising it. He could not quite comprehend what she must have been reliving in her memory.

Lancelot carefully brought his hand to where her wrist was beneath the blanket and rubbed his thumb over the fabric delicately. He didn’t know if the gesture was comforting or not, he had never been comforting before. He had also never lost a lover before, but he was beginning to understand what it might feel like.

“It’s alright,” he reassured her in a whisper, _let it go_. She did not need to be afraid to show her sadness in front of him. His touch told her all that she needed to know. Ari cried quietly for Benni, _for herself_. For all the years that she never got to have with him.

She lost herself in her grief and leaned into Lancelot, his solid shoulder holding her up. He had never been more unawares of what to do in a situation in his life. Lancelot didn’t understand her. He hadn’t been around women freely enough to understand how they worked, they were a complete mystery. The church had told him to keep to himself, that women were used for one thing only and that beautiful Fey women in particular were the work of the devil. He had been taught to stay away, _to resist._ And he did, _mostly_.

He was taken to visit a holy lord’s estate once many years ago. He was young and naive at the time and found the lord’s daughter quite beautiful. He never approached her and they never spoke, but he allowed himself to look. He looked and his actions gained him new scars across his back the next day. After that, he never looked at a female in that way again. And now he’s sitting here, with this fierce and honest woman he now cared for crying against his shoulder, and he wished he knew what to do. He wished to know how to be tender, how to make her smile again.

He looked down at his rough hands, perhaps if he was not a monk then he would know. Perhaps if he were not a monk, then he would allow himself to consider her beautiful, even in this state. Perhaps if he were not a monk, he would have approached her in a different way when they had met. There was this gaping wide void in his life and he had always been contempt to let it stay empty, until now.

He stopped his train of thought and just sat there quietly, thinking that it would likely be better if he let her be, allowing whatever was going through her mind to pass through her system without him interfering, he would probably say or do the wrong thing anyway. Ari didn’t need to think that he was judging her. So he sat, and he waited. He waited for her to cry herself to sleep propped up against his shoulder. When he heard her breaths evening out he cast his eyes down. The way her body was contorting, her hands trying to keep the blanket around her, it looked uncomfortable, so he gently rolled her light frame down and onto his lap. He rewrapped what he could do of the blanket around her and pulled around some of his own cloak, which she had given him back, over her. He tried to protest about it but she hadn’t wanted him to be cold, again.

Ari was dangerously close to him, he wasn’t sure about it, but he let her sleep using his thighs as a pillow. He made an exception to his rules this one time, just for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loooooong chapter I'm sorry, but I just kept on adding little bits to it and I didn't want to break it up. We're getting close to 100k being published and I have no idea how I've written this, onwards we go!  
> So what do we think about Lancelot's new secret? And how is she going to react when she finds out? Squirrel and Lancelot's relationship is changing and its honestly making my heart burst.  
> I feel like you might like the next chapter... *winks subtly*.


	20. falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ari tries to prove that she has healed, and a moment of calm brings Lancelot closer to her in a way he had never thought possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW// mild panic/anxiety, referenced near drowning  
> AN// I don't know how but we made it to chapter 20! Thank you so much if you're still here and as a small reward... I think you'll like this chapter ;)  
> Comments are greatly appreciated x

[[Moodboard](https://captainbucky-yt.tumblr.com/post/644040569098846208/youre-not-what-i-was-looking-for)]

Ari was awake and fully alert when Lancelot had arrived back in the morning with his catch and some winter berries that he had found amongst the bushes. She seemed to not remember how she had fallen asleep last night, or if she did she didn’t care enough to mention it to him.

In truth Ari had remembered, and she was embarrassed. She remembered waking up with her head resting across his thighs, her hand tucked beneath her cheek as the other clutched onto his cloak thrown around her side. Lancelot was the last person she had ever thought would allow her to sleep on them like that. She knew that he likely hadn’t ever been in that situation before, so maybe she just had second hand embarrassment for him. Ari didn’t want things to be awkward between them so she said nothing of it. He’d already saved her life and she already didn’t know how to act around him because of it, this just made things worse.

Whilst Lancelot had gone hunting for their breakfast, Ari talked with Squirrel, knowing that the information would be a little easier to get out of the boy than Lancelot.

“You two were okay whilst I was-” she didn’t know which word to use, _dying, unconscious... dying?_

“…Asleep?” She settled for.

“Yeah, you scared me,” the boy poked at the fire briefly with a stick and put it back down into the snow, “But I think you scared Lancelot more.” Squirrel looked up to her with his tired little eyes.

Ari wasn’t entirely surprised to hear him say that. Lancelot had been growing a little protective over her and she had noticed it. He had taken her hand and begged her not to go, but the way he had been acting since she had woken up was even more protective than before. He was insistent but still careful with her. A part of her was annoyed with all of the sugar-coating and light treading that he was doing, yet at the same time she wasn’t. She felt like she was back at the abbey, remembering how in that morning after she saw him in a new light and it shifted something within her. The thought of him caring about her made her eyes sting for a reason she couldn’t comprehend and prompted that same something within her to shift again further, _you’ve been alone for long enough_. It had just been an attraction before, but now it was turning into something else, something that ran deeper than just lust and she didn't know what to do with it. Perhaps it was just her emotions running on high after narrowly cheating death by a hair’s width.

 _Not without you_ , he had said, Ari saw how he was breaking before her when he did. She had been more worried about _his_ life than her own, she was more terrified that Lancelot might have drowned like Benni had done when he had rescued her than of the thought of herself dying. It was selfish but she could not face losing another like that, not even Lancelot. She would rather he had left her instead of putting himself in danger.

“I’m sorry, Squirrel.”

The boy shook his head eagerly and shuffled closer to her.

“You saved my life, and Lancelot saved yours, everything is fine.” Squirrel tried to smile at her, though she could see that what had happened had shaken him, how could it not? She held her hand out to him.

“You are brave, Squirrel, but you don’t have to be that all of the time,” she said with a voice laced with sympathy but also pride for the child. Squirrel took her hand in his.

“ _You're_ brave, _Lancelot’s_ brave,” he said quietly, picking with his other fingers at the threads of his boot.

Ari smiled sadly, “Only when we have to be.” Bravery had been forced upon them, there was no other choice, but Squirrel was perhaps braver than both of them in his own way.

The poor child hadn’t had the time to process everything yet. He had kept Lancelot from falling apart and had held her steady a few times, had watched to the trees for danger and dried out her wet clothes all by himself. He had cooked their food when Lancelot wasn’t able to and when Ari didn’t have the energy for it. Ari could see the waters welling in his eyes, so much weight to bear for such a small child. She squeezed his hand.

“Come here,” she said gently, pulling him towards her. Squirrel fell into her side carefully and she wrapped her arms around him.

“You’re safe,” she said, running a hand through his hair, “we’re safe,” she repeated, pressing her cheek to the top of his head.

Lancelot saw Squirrel sobbing in Ari’s embrace as he stood just behind the tree line with Goliath’s reins in his hands. He felt guilty for putting so many tasks on the boy in the last couple of days, and for not even really asking him if he was okay. It was thoughtless, and he should have known better. He came back to the camp, handing out his findings and giving as much as he could to the two of them, taking as little as he dared for himself. He’d lasted longer on less.

~•~

Ari felt drained, _literally_. She had no energy. After she’d eaten what little scraps she could manage to break her fast, she placed her unbound hand into the ground. The earth was cold, and her fingers quickly went numb, but she was able to bring herself some relief from the aches and weakness using her powers. Ari couldn’t _heal_ herself as such, but the energy from the earth could help her body speed up the natural process. She felt the life from the trees flow up out of the ground and inside of her veins, tingling through her blood like tiny thorns. It didn't hurt it was just odd, indescribable. Her markings began to ache gently as a quiet wind moved high through the treetops. The energy that she pulled wasn’t much since the earth slept during winter, but it was enough to make her feel like she could maybe walk again.

Squirrel was moaning with boredom, having done very little except sit and watch Ari for all of the day before. Lancelot wasn’t inclined to teach the boy how to fight. He was much younger than Squirrel is now when he was first given a sword and look how he has turned out. Instead he offered to teach the boy to ride his horse, how to _actually_ ride as he had phrased it.

“I can ride!” The boy protested.

“You can sit on a horse and not fall off, that’s not riding. You need to learn how to command and how to control.” He rebuked as he led Goliath over to the boy.

“Why can’t I learn with the sword?” Squirrel groaned, flopping his hands by his sides.

“How can you fight in a fight if you can’t get to the fight because you can’t ride a horse?” There was a lot of repetition in that sentence and it was perhaps the most complex thing Squirrel had ever heard the monk say, even after hearing him read in Latin. The boy was baffled, but the man had a point.

“Okay fine,” Squirrel yielded.

“Good, now get up.” Lancelot gestured to the horse, his lack of sleep making him more irritable than usual this morning. He had spent another night watching over Ari as she slept, and not being able to swap watch with her combined with him being the only one able to hunt was having an effect on his system. He tried not to mind it, for he knew that Ari needed rest to get her strength back.

The boy was tiny and the horse was not, so Lancelot put his hands under the boy’s knee and ankle and lifted him up, allowing the boy’s other leg to swing naturally over the saddle. He got the stirrups as short as they would go but it wasn’t quite enough, they would have to do. Now that he thought of it, he should probably have used Ari’s horse instead, but he trusted the steadiness of Goliath more. Lancelot looped some rope between the horses bit rings in his mouth and used it as a lunge to guide the horse in a wide circle. They began their lesson.

“Go steady, Goliath,” he soothed a hand down his horse’s neck as he lead him out to the suitable space that he had cleared where the boy could learn. Lancelot showed Squirrel how to sit, how to hold the reins correctly, how to use his feet to guide the horse and how to use his weight as well in the saddle. The boy was quick to learn and actually listened to him for once.

He remembers being taught how to ride, not by his real father when he was still just a boy, although he vaguely remembers that too, but by one of Carden’s men. They handed him a fresh, young horse, _an untrained beast_ and told him to tame him. It was quite ironic now that he thought back on it, how he was young and restless just like his dark colt. It was not easy, but many wounds and broken bones in his juvenile body later he finally managed to break the young one in, only for Father Carden to come along and order its execution, handing him another young beast to tame. He remembers the frustration, the seething anger that he roared as he watched his friend die. _Do not get attached to anything but God in this life boy, the animal would always be a beast no matter how much you tamed it._ Father’s words were poetic and metaphorical, Lancelot had not needed to ask to understand the red man’s actual meaning. 

Lancelot couldn’t help but look at Ari with each circle Squirrel and Goliath made around him. She seemed okay until he noticed her try to get up and she fell to her side. Lancelot saw her tumble and he dropped the lunge rope almost immediately.

Squirrel quickly pulled on the reins to halt Goliath and watched as Lancelot ran over to her. _Hmm_ , Squirrel thought, _interesting_. He’d felt there was something that he was missing, something in the way Lancelot touched her and how she spoke to him. It was _something_ indeed, but he was just a boy, what did he know?

“What are you doing?” Lancelot growled at Ari with an annoyed turn. He’d already saved her life, he didn’t want her undoing his good work after only a couple of days.

“I’m fine, I just, _slipped_ ,” she protested, attempting to push up against the ground. She did not like being weak, never in her life had she been given the opportunity to not be so strong. She’d held herself up for years and now she could barely even get up.

“Stay down,” Lancelot huffed, crouching as he reached for her shoulders but she swatted him away.

“No, I’m fine, I want to get up. I need to walk I can’t feel my legs sitting on the ground like this all day.” She tried to stand, failing at even making her way onto one knee.

Lancelot let her fail just to make his point then sighed and reached out again. He put one hand in the crux of her elbow and the second went for her other wrist.

“What’re you doing?” She echoed his question with a confused expression, looking him in the eye.

“Helping you,” he retorted in his usual flat tone as he watched down at her feet.

“Well, don’t, it’s unnerving.” She was kind of joking but kind of serious all the same.

He threw her a deadpan look, realising that they were both a little irritable today, and held onto her tighter. Lancelot huffed, she didn’t seem to mind him saving her life but _this_ she had a problem with?

“Up,” he ordered, coaxing her to push herself from the ground as he pulled her gently.

“I thought I was supposed to tell you what to do?” She said between breaths as she got up properly to a knee, she really was irritable today.

“That was before you almost died and I had to save your life,” the dark, monotonous humour in his voice resurfaced again.

“Almost? Lucky me.” Ari huffed sarcastically, not all too sure if Lancelot knew sarcasm very well.

Lancelot rolled his eyes and changed his position to be by her side as she got to her feet, his cloak around her shoulders falling into place at her ankles. He held her wrist closest to him to steady her whilst his hand closest to her snaked around her side gingerly. She took a few shaky steps forward but the next ones were easier, held up by Lancelot’s grip on her arm and waist. She was surprised at how caring he was being, how he was going out of his way to help her, though as she thought about it, he had always done that.

“You can let go,” she said after a moment, placing one foot in front of the other heavily.

“Do you never let anybody help you?” He quipped and Ari laughed tiredly to herself. The answer was no, _not really_ , she'd taken care of herself for years.

“That’s rich, from you,” she snarked lightly back at him as she took another step. There wasn’t any malice with it, she just found the irony quite amusing.

Lancelot rolled his eyes again and slipped his hand further around her over his cloak that she was wearing as they shuffled on.

Ari glanced up to his face as he watched the ground for any icy patches, she was wearing his cloak so she could actually see him fully for once. She noticed how he bit his lip in concentration and she didn’t think that he knew he was doing it, his face was usually so still most of the time.

“I never thanked you,” she paused, gathering the courage, “when I woke up yesterday.” He looked down at her face, his own fairly blank, but they carried on walking. Ari didn’t think he’d quite expected the conversation to continue or maybe even turn to her thanking him, but he did save her life, she owed him that much at least. 

“You did save my life,” she continued, captivated by the blueness in his eyes, “I am grateful.” She held onto those eyes, not wanting him to break away. 

Lancelot pursed his lips and went back to watching the ground, feeling his irritability dissipate away. He still didn't know how she did that, how she looked at him like he wasn't a complete monster. He didn’t know how to respond, being genuinely thanked for something good that he had done was not something he was too familiar with.   
  
Ari gave the air a moment and her lip threaded between her teeth subconsciously. She brought her own eyes away to watch where she was going. 

“I take it,” she began, suddenly feeling like she needed to catch her breath, “you’ve never saved someone like that before.” She felt his hands on her loosen a little, perhaps she had hit a nerve. Ari glanced her eyes up to him slowly but he was already looking to Squirrel waiting atop of his horse.

Lancelot hadn’t exactly saved the boy, he thought, more like brought him along with his untimely escape. He looked back to the ground and shook his head gently, _saving people_ wasn’t exactly what he did best.

“Well,” Ari winced at a twinge in her abdomen as they took another step together, “thank you, again, Lancelot.”

His eyes turned to her without him having to even put any thought into the action. He recognised her soft expression as what he thought was sincerity. People didn’t ever look at him like this, it was strange, a good kind of strange, but he was getting used to the way she did so. Everything that she was saying, she had meant it. He felt his heart beating in his chest and, he smiled. It wasn’t huge and it wasn’t like how the boy did but it was still a smile, albeit lazy and crooked, more of a twitch than anything really. _You’re allowed to care about her, Lancelot._

He tried to tilt his head and hide the tugging of his lips away but Ari saw it, prompting a gentle smile of her own, but hers was more evident in the brightening of her eyes.

“Are you guys done yet?” Squirrel shouted from over on the horse, breaking whatever moment was happening right then. Lancelot cleared his throat at the boy's interruption and looked further away nervously.

“Yes, well, erm, I can just, sit here and watch,” Ari said in bits and pieces, gesturing to a nearby rock. Lancelot helped her down and then went back to Squirrel, a new sense of pride in his step and something else in his chest. He had missed her talking to him, joking with him. He picked up the lunge rope and they continued on with the boy’s lesson.

~•~

Lancelot insisted that they stayed in the clearing until Ari was well enough to travel, much to Ari’s disagreement. She had been placing her hand more and more into the dirt and managed to stay awake for most of the day before. She was recovering quicker than he had thought physically possible for someone who had almost drowned merely days ago, and she was itching for them to move on. The mid-morning light was just breaking up through the parting clouds above them.

“We’re not moving until you can hold your sword,” he told her.

“I can hold my sword,” Ari said, demonstrating as she held it out in front of her, _see_. She cocked an eyebrow, her tone suddenly shifting, “Want to dance?”

Squirrel’s face contorted at her question from where he sat a good enough distance away to stay out of their way.

Lancelot huffed at her persistence and drew his own sword out from his hip. It had been a few days since he last held the blade but none of the motions were lost to him, that’s what you would expect after over twenty summers of wielding it.

“Don’t hold back on me, Lance,” Ari teased as she twirled her sword loosely around her wrist. She shifted her weight between her feet as she prepared herself.

Lancelot rolled his eyes, “As you wish, _your highness,_ ” he mocked her lightly with a gentle bow, his arms stretching out low and wide by his sides. If he was going to tease her then he might as well have a little fun with it whilst he still could. The thought of how he was lying to her slipped his mind completely as they started on this back and forth.

 _He’s cocky today_ , Ari thought as she scoffed at him. Those were dangerous words that he was playing with. She started to circle him as she had done when they first crossed swords in her camp.

“Watch your feet,” he echoed his words from many days ago, gesturing with the tip of his sword towards her footing. Ari pushed out a single laugh.

“You’re smug, you know that right?” She raised her brow at the smirk growing across his face. An odd kind of tension danced through the air, not like the dangerous anticipation that you would normally expect before a fight but something tantalisingly curious.

Lancelot’s fairly unseen before mischievous grin grew a little at her remark and dropped back down. He had to be serious, he didn’t want her to hurt herself or worse, for _him_ to hurt _her_.

Ari wound her way in close enough, intent on proving that she was fine. The first time they had fought, Ari had started on the defensive, but this time she went for the attack. She brought her sword up and he swatted her blade away as if it were just a feather.

The block was too easy, Lancelot could feel that she would not last long if that was the strength of her first blow, though the look in her eyes suggested that she was just warming up.

Ari went for the attack again and this time her sword landed on his, once, twice, three times until he spun away. The horses whinnied as they watched on, as if they were betting with each other who would end up as the victor this time around.

“You getting slow in your old age, Lance?” She taunted him as he stepped away from her. Lancelot narrowed his eyes, he was not old. He was older than her, yes, but he was not _old_.

“Or are you afraid to spar with a woman?” Ari cocked her head at him, rotating her sword around her wrist as she started to circle him again.

 _No, just you_ , Lancelot thought. He ground his teeth and brought his sword down, clashing against hers as she blocked him. She parried him again and it somehow brought them closer together until they were practically stood on top of one another, swords crossed and pointed upto the clouded sky between them.

“Oh that’s what you are is it?” His low husk travelled through the thick air between them as he raised an eyebrow, looking down at her. He could feel his breath becoming heavy in his chest but he didn’t think it was from the sparring.

“ _Oh come on_ , you can’t pretend you hadn’t noticed,” Ari smirked, gesturing at herself with her free hand as she pushed him away and they unlocked their swords. _That husk, again_ , her mind spun a little. Why did he do this to her?

Squirrel looked between the two of them eagerly. He enjoyed watching sword fights, it was exciting. Although, he struggled to comprehend what exactly they were trying to do. Were they fighting, or flirting, or both? He couldn’t tell.

Lancelot’s cheeks began to burn, _he had noticed_. He was very well aware of her. Something new in her scent caught him and it surprised him, he didn’t know what it was, he’d never sensed it in another, but it was different from before, _alluring_. He liked this confidence in her, how she was playing with him like this, but she was not strong enough for sparring with him just yet and he wished that she would just accept that fact. Lancelot bit down on his lip, he had heard the jests that the Paladins would throw at each other to rouse a laugh from the brothers, but whatever this was was beyond him.

“You’re messing with me,” he said as he sidestepped.

“Of course,” she grinned wickedly, twisting her sword and feeling like her usual self, though she had not teased a man like this for some time. She thanked the earth for giving her her strength back.

Ari noticed a new glint in Lancelot’s eyes, hoping that she wasn’t straying too far into unfamiliar territory with her words for him, though he _was_ returning her jests with ease. She hadn’t intended to flirt with him but that’s where she’d ended up. Ari didn’t even know if Lancelot knew what flirting was, but she enjoyed seeing him struggle to work it out between their swords clashing.

The look that she gave him awoke something within Lancelot, something he had deeply repressed until now, and he found that he rather enjoyed it. He pushed it back and focussed, remembering that they were sparring with edged blades and not blunts. At the rate that they were going, one of them was going to end up hurt if Ari did not concentrate. He let his face fall seriously and gestured for her to approach with her attack.

Ari stepped forward and made her opening moves. _Up, across, down,_ just like her father had taught her. Her blade rounded over Lancelot’s but he pulled his back up and unbalanced her.

It wasn’t difficult for Lancelot to predict her moves because he knew how she fought, he’d been at the end of her blade before. He restrained his movements so as to not catch her so hard, she was still healing albeit extremely stubborn about it.

Ari brought her blade across her body which he blocked predictably and then spun on her heel to swing the blade back and away from her. _Momentum,_ that’s all she needed. That’s what she relied on when she fought with a sword. She was strong, yes, but up against an opponent like Lancelot she had to use whatever advantage she could get, and for her it was speed. She was smaller and powerful, the rotation was easy enough for her to build up to clash his held up sword.

Lancelot gripped onto her wrist and spun her around so they met face to face. There was something in his eyes, he had shifted to a seriousness that she wasn’t expecting, they were just supposed to be sparring.

“You fought better than this the first time, Ari,” he coaxed her to do better, pushing her away and gesturing for her to come towards him again. Ari had shown that she could yield the blade in this state but Lancelot had to be sure that she could maintain it if they came across another attack.

“I recall that I was the one to win that fight,” Ari got herself back onto the right footing, a little out of breath. She had proven that she could hold her sword so why was he persisting?

“I was injured,” the former monk defended himself.

“You tell yourself that monk.” She saw Lancelot’s eyes narrow at the tease.

“Again,” he said sternly, gripping his sword.

She came for him stronger than before and it caught Lancelot a little off guard with her sudden strength. She was forcing him to walk backwards and he did, letting her come down on his blade without too much resistance. _She’s not going to last,_ he wanted to stop her but he saw the fire in her eyes, and he realised then that he didn’t know how to without hurting her. He stopped his feet and parried her a little harder in the hopes that she would tire herself out. 

Squirrel shifted as he watched Ari start to lose control of her senses as her blade cut down into Lancelot’s, and he could see Lancelot trying to stop her. She twisted and turned and came for him over and over. Squirrel didn’t like what was happening, something was going to go wrong.

“You, are, holding, yourself, back,” Ari gritted out between their swords clashing. She was frustrated, he had pushed her to do better yet he was not fighting her like an equal, she hated being coddled that way. Ari didn’t realise she was doing it, but she was pushing herself and her body's limits right now too far.

Lancelot went to open his mouth as the clashing hiss of swords rattled in his ears, but he stepped back and retreated his sword away abruptly instead, opening up the space between them and hoping that it would be enough to calm her adrenaline for now. This wasn’t sparring, this was Ari letting out her anger and she was going to get hurt, _again_.

A wave of dizziness came over Ari as she suddenly lacked any resistance and her boots tripped over nothing, falling forward into the air. She coughed out as she hit something solid, suddenly feeling like she could no longer stand. The ache in her head grew and she groaned in response, lifting her hand to press at her temple, _perhaps Lancelot was right_.

Lancelot took her sword from her hand before she dropped it and held it out to Squirrel who was already running up and took it from him, along with Lancelot’s own. He had seen her stumble forwards as if time had slowed and had closed the distance between them immediately in one large step.

Her senses awoke when her mind came to and it overwhelmed her. A chest rising and falling beneath the flat of her palm, breath tickling the hair above her forehead. She realised then that Lancelot was the something solid holding her up and a heat spread up through her neck. The hand gripping steadily onto her waist was burning a welcomed heat through her layers into her skin, and yet, she froze. She dared to look up and felt as close to him then as the tears which stained on his cheeks. She could barely see his face beneath the shadow of his hood but his piercing eyes were watching her with fire and concern. Ari cleared her throat a little awkwardly with the tingle at the base of her neck and looked back down quickly, shuffling on her feet to get them back into some form of stable stance.

“Perhaps, I am not quite ready yet,” she admitted lowly, releasing her hand from its position on his chest.

 _I might be,_ Lancelot’s mind responded and it knocked him off balance, he knew that’s not the way that she had meant it. Why did he even have a thought that she could have meant anything different? His hand slipped away from her waist leaving a burning trail in its wake, and he hoped then that her father wasn’t somewhere in the trees watching. The pang of guilt pulled at his mind as he stepped back.

Ari missed the heat, she wanted more of it, but she would not ask for it. Ari did not know of how he had held her to him for hours and hours, pressing her into him like her life depended on it, which it did. She could not remember much of what had happened and relied on the pair to tell her, though the detail of her body lying in Lancelot’s arms like she did was lost to her.

Even though he had held her for days, Lancelot was apprehensive about touching her, about holding her again. It was a slippery slope that he was trying to walk on, he would not let his hands meet her unless necessary. She was their queen, and he was, well, _him_. He restrained himself, stepping backwards further to create some distance when he knew that she was steady enough to hold herself up. He had a feeling within him, something that he refused to name, but it drew him to her and he was scared that if he touched her that way then he would only be drawn in further. He could not allow himself to let that happen, she would not want him.

~•~

They began to follow the river’s path south. A few more days and they would arrive in Byzantine and their journey would be over.

Ari sat in front of Lancelot in the saddle so that he could keep an eye on her. She was not quite ready yet to ride her horse by herself which Squirrel had taken, and their arrangement had worked out for the better. The boy rode off in front of them, practicing the new skills that Lancelot had taught him in the last couple of days. Ari felt contempt enough to relax a little into the arms which circled around her to hold the reins, and Lancelot felt comfortable enough to let her just this once. His feelings had crept up on him and then had hit him in a wave when he thought he had lost her. They were new and strange and he didn’t quite know how to deal with it, he didn’t know how to rationalise these things inside of his head. But when she leant back into his chest, surrounding herself in his warmth, his heart fluttered, and he felt like she belonged there. Her scent had begun to come back to her and the familiarity of it that flooded his senses put him at ease. _No_ , his face twitched, _she does not want you, she cannot want you_. _You are just a murderer and she is a queen._

Ari began to realise that who she was with Lancelot and Squirrel and who she was with everyone else were indeed two different people, two different versions of herself. One was powerful and commanding and the other reminded her of who she was before the fates came crashing down on her. Before her father disappeared, before Benni, before her mother, before she assumed the secret throne of a whole kingdom of Fey. A part of her wished that she could stay like this, travelling and exploring, living day to day without the worries of her people sitting heavily on her shoulders. She knew it could not last forever, being the queen was tough but it is who she was in her bones, she could not run from it. But right now, just being _Ari_ with them was a feeling that no throne could ever give her.

Then there was Lancelot. Her heart tugged her towards him and she tried to fight against it. To anyone else it would be deemed irrational and wrong for her to seek him but to her it wasn’t, he was becoming a part of her, he was safety, and she did not know how to stop it, or if she even wanted to stop it.

“What I said the other night, about Benni. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable,” Ari’s voice came up from out of the blue and he glanced briefly at the back of her head.

“You didn’t.”

Ari thought he sounded unsure, “It’s just that, I know some things about what the church does and doesn’t allow you to do. I didn’t want to cross-”

“You didn’t,” he repeated, “it’s alright.” If anything, he was the one who had crossed the line between them when he held her to his chest for hours on end without letting go, but she didn’t know this.

“Now that you’re not one of them, have you thought about any of that?” She cleared her throat nervously mid sentence. She broached the subject tentatively, given that she was pressed dangerously close to him between his thighs in that moment.

He looked at her as if she had startled him but she didn’t see it immediately. She turned her head up further to try and look at him when he did not respond, catching the glare on his face.

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to-it’s not my business-” she shook her head.

“A little,” he said. Lancelot was coming around to the idea of being normal, of having a future and not carrying these burdens which he had done for so many years, and he had thought briefly that he might want somebody to be there with him when he did, _but that was all_. Who would even want him anyway?

Ari turned her face forward to the trail Squirrel and Dusty were making and pursed her lips. They fell into a calm silence as fresh snow began to fall.

“I’m sorry you lost him,” Lancelot said lowly. He didn’t think that anybody really deserved to be alone, except maybe him, and least of all her.

Ari sighed, “Things happen that you can’t control.” She shrugged lightly, “It’s in the past now.” She doesn’t quite know why but she felt the need to let him know that she had moved on. All of the emotion that came after cheating death had caused her to think of Benni, even cry for him. Losing him had almost ruined her back then and she couldn’t let it happen again. She was sad, _yes_ , and she would not let his memory be forgotten, but she had moved on.

Lancelot didn’t know why he was relieved to hear her say that. It was cruel for him to be glad that she had lost someone she loved, it was more than cruel. _What if she had done the same to you? Thought of you losing Carden the same way?_ He shoved the thought away, he could never be happy for her pain. And he could never be a part of her life like Benni had been, for many reasons.

The light snow flurries drifted down like feathers in the air around them. Ari held her hand out to catch the snowflakes, watching as they landed and melted on her fingertips. Lancelot saw how the flakes graced her skin, and his heart wondered what it would be like to do the same. He bit back the idea and pushed the thought away, _she would not want you to touch her like that,_ and he didn’t know why he was wanting to either.

Ari stifled a yawn, their attempt at sparring in the morning had taken more out of her than she had thought, she had indeed pushed herself too far and Lancelot had been right. She ran a hand back limply through her hair, tussling the snowflakes away. Lancelot smiled behind her at the casual motion.

“You are tired,” Lancelot stated.

“I’m fine,” she rebuffed, dropping her hand to her thigh, it was only the afternoon and the sun was still in the sky.

“Rest,” Lancelot said. She had done the same to him and now it was his turn.

Ari began to turn back to him, a little annoyed but happy with his concern for her, “Lance-”

“Rest,” he said again, looking her in the eyes the same way that she had done to him.

Ari huffed and resigned, turning her face forwards. She sat back against his chest a little but not too much into him, and closed her eyes.

~•~

Falling. She was falling. The air was moving beneath her and nothing was there to catch her. The water broke underneath her body. And all around was red. She tried to scream but no sound came. It flooded her, filling her with pain. The water, it was heavy. Pulling her under. She was trapped, she could not breathe. She couldn’t feel. Her hands reached out but there was nothing, numbness washing over her skin. The whispers, they haunted her _, witch_. She saw herself, a figure, a man, a boy, a girl. _A child_. White and gold surrounded by a garden. A field of blood and battle cries. She closed her eyes and let go. _Weightless_ , tugging back and forth. _Let go, let go_.

She cried out as she jerked forwards. There was warmth wrapped around her, sheltering her. Her ears, they rang with nothingness and yet with everything. _You’re okay_. Her hands trembled, grasping for something to hold onto. _You’re safe_.

“You’re safe, Ari,” Lancelot’s voice by her ear cut through the white noise. She tried to breathe, tried to slow down, to stop the world from turning.

“I, I-can’t, I-” The warmth pressed down tighter, gently.

“You’re safe,” he said again.

She felt herself come back, the breath brushing over the side of her face, the coarseness of the fabric beneath her palms. They were still, the only thing moving was her chest rising up and down with his.

“Lance,” she breathed out.

“I’m here.”

 _I’m here_ , _he’s your safety and he’s here._ Her breath caught at his words. Her hand ran up his arm, the one wrapped around her middle to stop her from falling. She sighed, trying not to cry. _You’re a queen, pull yourself together._

It was a bad dream, a nightmare of her falling to her death through the air, of her crashing into the water. She did not want to remember it, she didn’t want to know how death had felt. But now that it was ingrained in her, she could not escape it. Ari tapped on Lancelot’s arm after a moment and he let go, bringing his hand away but she could tell by his slowness that he was wanting to keep it there. She looked forwards, Squirrel’s eyes meeting hers with a look of pain and sorrow. 

“I’m okay,” she said to him, still catching her breath. The boy was not convinced so he looked to Lancelot who nodded gently at him. Squirrel turned Dusty and walked back onto the trail.

Ari brought her fingers swiftly up to wipe away at her face, at the tears threatening to break away. Lancelot lowered his head slowly towards her shoulder.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked softly, hardly recognising his voice as his own. He had felt the shift within him, he had just never expected it to be so obvious.

“Not now,” Ari shook her head weakly. Lancelot nodded to himself. She sounded broken, so different to how she had been before she had slept. Lancelot wanted to comfort her, to shield her from the world inside her mind, e _ven angels have their demons_. Instead, he brought his hand up and gave a gentle squeeze of her arm before motioning Goliath forwards.

 _I’m here_ , he doesn’t know why he said it, like he assumed that he was the thing that she was searching for. She had started to say his name but he had cut her off. She could have told him to let go, to let her down, but he would never know.

~•~

They had found a hollowed out old tree to shelter them from the light rain that was falling. Squirrel was tucked up beside Ari, small enough to fit within the gap and balled under one of the blankets. Lancelot lay beside her, a leg bent up whilst the other stretched out, hands resting together in his lap. The canopy above kept him mostly dry so he gave the other blanket to her. They listened as the raindrops hit the old tree’s roots and trunk, pitter pattering a soothing lullaby which seemed to comfort them all.

Ari had gravitated close to him once more, like she had done a few nights prior. Closer towards the safety that he gave her. The visions she had seen in her nightmare were still repeating at the forefront of her mind, and she could not shake them away. Ari tried to think of other things but her mind kept on circling back to them. She waited for Squirrel’s breaths to even out beside her to know that he was asleep, she didn’t want him to hear this. Her voice came out tired and broken when she spoke quietly. 

“Have you ever been afraid? Of anything? Of death?”

Lancelot opened his eyes and turned his face to her. She realised how stupid her question sounded, he was _the Weeping Monk._ He wasn’t afraid of anything.

“Every day,” he said honestly. Ari’s eyes dragged over to him, with the way he was lying against the tree he was almost at eye level with her for once.

“Not of death,” he continued, his head inclining slightly as he glanced his eyes back out to check the forest. His lips pressed together for a moment, “Of living.” It was true, he’d always been prepared for death, it was inevitable, what happened in his life was not. He had always been _alive_ but he was not _living_.

Ari pursed her lips briefly, she understood what that felt like too. 

“I don’t think I’m afraid of death,” Ari broke her eyes from his, almost ashamed. Her voice dropped to someplace solemn, “I think I’m just afraid of myself.” Her head bowed and the small flickering fire at their feet reflected on her skin.

Lancelot’s eyes blinked a couple of times before he came back to Ari. The painful look on her face reminded him of the third night after he had rescued her, as she gazed off into the fire with such sadness and desperation. Her eyes looked like they wanted to cry but no tears were forming, he didn’t think that there was anything left for her to give.

Lancelot knew what that felt like, he had experience with that same feeling of being afraid of yourself. He looked down briefly and noticed how her hands trembled in her lap, how her breath was beginning to shake.

“Do you know why you think that?” he coaxed gently, leaving her enough space in his question to run from it or embrace it in a way she had done for him many times now. She could answer simply _yes_ or _no_ and not have to explain herself further. But Lancelot was learning how talking could help with whatever was going on inside, Ari had shown him this, and he felt better about himself when he did. He felt better when she helped him work through his memories and emotions. Since when had he become so sentimental about such things?

Lancelot could see the dejection in her face as she looked down to her hands, studying them weakly. He thought that maybe she wasn’t going to respond since the silence seemed to last a lot longer than it was doing.

“I don’t want to close my eyes. Earlier it was like I was falling, I was drowning again in the water and it felt so real.” Her head shook lowly, “I’m just afraid of my own mind.” How long could she keep this up? Repressing every negative thing that she felt and pretend like they didn’t exist? She had opened up more about her burdens and grief in the last weeks than she had done in the last year. She felt pathetic for crying so much, for being so weak and vulnerable. She was strong, _a queen_ , and yet right now she really didn’t feel like one.

Lancelot felt a weight coming down on his shoulders. He hadn’t pushed her to speak to him of what happened in the forest, he didn’t need to think too hard to guess that her nightmare might have taken her back to the river, to how she had almost died.

“This was my fault,” he bowed his own head down beneath his hood.

“What?” Ari’s voice croaked in quiet disbelief, her eyes lifting over to try and see his face. Lancelot’s tone dropped and his voice slowed to almost seething.

“I knew something was wrong with that village, I could feel it,” he shook his head, the stiffness coming back into his voice, “but I didn’t say anything of it.” He scowled at himself for his own foolishness. If he had said something, then maybe the Paladins wouldn’t have come and maybe Ari wouldn’t have almost died and maybe she wouldn’t be feeling this way. He wanted to take her pain and grief away and carry it for her but he didn’t know how. 

Ari reached her hand towards him but he twisted his shoulders away from her.

“Lancelot,” she tried to bring him back to her but he didn’t turn. His breathing was heavy through his nose and Ari could see in his face how much he was blaming himself for what had happened to her, she wasn’t going to let him wallow in this. She reached her hand for him again, shuffling closer in the hollowed tree so that she could see beneath the hood.

“Listen to me,” she begged him, resting her hand in the crook of his elbow, “this was not your fault. I led us through that village, we couldn’t have know what would happen.”

“I should have known,” his head turned to her sharply, eyes pleading and they broke Ari’s heart. He held so much guilt over so many things, he thought that he could prevent this, that he could protect her and Squirrel but he had failed.

Ari didn’t know what to say as her head sat back just a little, how to tell him that the fact that he had saved her life outweighed in importance however much he had thought this was his fault.

Lancelot's hardening eyes flicked down at the sudden warmth that came over his fist in his lap, at her soft fingers folding around the back of his hand to his palm. Everything in his expression softened as a reflex even when a deep part of him told him that he should do anything _but_ that.

This time Ari took his hand not because she had to, not because he was injured, but because she wanted to. She was relieved that he had looked away from her eyes for he would not see the pink starting to creep onto her cheeks. Ari did not know what he was thinking of the gesture that was meant to reassure him, she couldn’t read his face for once as he watched down at his lap, his lips falling open slightly. Ari started to pull back after a moment of him freezing, scared that she had done something wrong but movement beneath her palm made her pause and her eyes flick down.

_Stay, stay with me?_

Ari’s lips parted and her eyes darted to her hand as if she didn't believe it. The sensation of his skin running along her own made her breath catch silently within her chest, y _ou’ve been alone for long enough now._ She felt an anxiousness start to run through her veins and her heart beat a little faster. _What have you gotten yourself into, Ari?_

Lancelot felt like he was practically begging her without words to not run away from him, to not recede from the touch he had initiated when he had rotated his hand upwards and curled his fingers slowly between hers as if he had done it a thousand times, stopping her from leaving him. He would let her go if she wanted him to, but the pause in time as he waited for what she might do seemed to last for an eternity. But then her fingers moved and his breath no longer held him as its captive.

Ari took a chance with bated breath and curled her fingers cautiously as he had done, until their hands were loosely laced together, his calloused skin pressing to hers as her leather binding separated their palms. The forest and the rains around them went silent. She felt something, a fluttering deep within her chest. His fingertips brushed down past her knuckles and curved over her hand with a novel delicacy to his touch. It was the first time that he had held her hand this way, she thought that maybe it was the first time he had held _anyone's_ hand this way.

Lancelot didn’t know why he had entwined their hands like this, why he had taken the leap and crossed the line. He was getting lost in his own mind and she had calmed him, it felt right. Her hand in his felt like it belonged there, a feeling he had never known. He expected her to push him away, _she would not want you,_ his mind said but she didn’t pull back.

His fingertips tingled and the pricks beneath his skin spread up through his arm to the crook of his neck, _perhaps his yearning for intimacy had been right_. Her skin brushed back and forth so dangerously slow across his own that he barely felt it, if it weren't for how acutely aware he was of her right then. It did not feel like the other times, when she had held his hand to clean his cuts or when she had used her fire powers days before. This time it held a different meaning, one that Lancelot was scared to accept as his heart beat fleetingly. He would tear down anyone in their way for her and it terrified him.

Lancelot could not take his eyes away, he was practically captivated, it was the closest thing to true comfort that he had ever felt. His body started to relax back against the inside of the tree, the familiar scent of Ari beside him was the only thing other than their hands that he could focus on. He let his thumb brush softly across hers like the snowflakes had done earlier and the strange butterflies in his stomach started dancing. He was always curious to know what this might feel like and now that he did, he didn’t want to let go.

“I’m glad you are here, Lancelot,” Ari broke his reverence with her gentle, soothing voice. Her fingers squeezed between his reassuringly, bringing their hands to thread together even more tightly. Ari still felt a little shaken by her visions but he was troubled too, so perhaps they both _needed_ this, this comfort in each other. 

She had said the words so smoothly that Lancelot almost didn’t believe them. But when his eyes came up and looked into hers, at the soft, warm gold worth more than any ring or chain, he knew that he was wrong, _he did believe her_. Lancelot doesn’t understand how just the sound of her voice can simply numb away his pain. He felt a sting behind his eyes and his mouth going dry, _how could she care for me?_ He was so unsure about everything that was happening but one look in her eyes and she grounded him. He held onto that feeling, that flutter within him, grasping onto it for as long as she would allow him to.

Ari had missed what this felt like, the anticipatory flutters of something new. She had long forgotten it and long given up hope of maybe experiencing it again. Ari could feel herself getting nervous as his sad blue eyes looked at her, her stomach quivering inside as she gazed back at him, at the lonely soul beneath the hood. The silence was settling and yet it was not awkward. Her other hand itched to reach out and trace his tears but she wouldn’t, not yet. It made her realise just how close she was, how far she had shifted towards him. Her thigh brushed against his and their shoulders were practically touching as her chest angled itself towards him subconsciously. Her mouth parted and her eyes scanned over his face as she went to back away and apologise nervously for the proximity.

“No-” Squirrel breathed lowly, huffing in his sleep at what must have been a nightmare.Ari turned her face quickly away from him and Lancelot felt her fingers tense around his at the sudden pain in the boy’s voice.

Lancelot unfurled his hand from hers quickly so that she could reach out to the boy. Ari turned her back on him and Lancelot let out the breath that he didn’t know he had been holding. He looked down at his palm, feeling lost with its sudden emptiness, at the tingle still drifting through his skin.

Ari curled herself around Squirrel and ran a hand over his shoulder then through his hair to soothe him from whatever was happening in his mind.

Lancelot felt the lines blurring and he didn’t know what to do. Could she possibly feel what he had felt just then? Did he even know what he was feeling? Was it so wrong of him to need her that way? Was it selfish of him? God had said not to covet another and yet he found himself doing just that, he wanted to be near to her if not just to be near to her. He couldn’t place a name on the feeling, he didn’t think it was lust from what he was taught, it was something else. All he knows is that he’s drawn to her like there’s some kind of invisible thread connecting their souls.

It was several minutes before the boy’s breaths evened out again, curled up within Ari’s protective embrace.

“Rest,” Lancelot murmured, prompting Ari to look up. He knew she was scared to close her eyes but she needed to sleep.

“I don’t, I-” Ari was tired but she didn’t want to close her eyes, she didn’t want to risk having that nightmare again.

“I will catch you," his words were a whisper,

"if you start to fall," but they were a _promise_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much softness here oh my goodness and HANDS! You asked for a rematch, so I snook one in here, I hope it was worth it. Poor Lancelot doesn't understand flirting but he held up his end don't you think??  
> As a warning, the next chapter is really long, it got to over 10k words and I don't feel like splitting it up so, buckle in.


	21. beauty in silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lancelot sorts out some of his feelings but is left even more confused when Ari crosses the line between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN// this chapter is LONG and one of my favourites. It ended up becoming about 12k words so I apologise for that. If you like some good ol' teeth rotting fluff and some major pining, then I hope you enjoy this :)  
> Comments are always appreciated x

[[Moodboard](https://captainbucky-yt.tumblr.com/post/644383528182857728/youre-not-what-i-was-looking-for-the-weeping)]

_  
I can feel something so soothing in the way she speaks my name,_

_and there's something in her voice that could numb any kind of pain._

_Nothing's ever drawn me like the way she draws me near,_

_for somewhere in her mouth I know are all the things I want so much to hear._

They had lost about five days of travelling whilst Ari was healing, and now when they set off in the morning they were taking things slower than usual because of her. Squirrel didn’t seem to mind the pace that they were travelling though, contempt with plodding on towards their destination, the horses didn’t seem to mind it too much either. This day seemed to go by quicker than the rest, and they had made good ground despite their slower pace.

Ari tried not to think about what had happened yesterday, pushing it away with her grief and all her other emotions like she usually did. Each time Lancelot gave her that look, the one which silently asked if she was okay, Ari just said that she was fine and they carried on, insisting on riding her own horse this time. She could not quite hold his gaze, for something in his eyes had shifted, the blue had tinted further like the ocean and each time she saw them she wanted to be closer, to thread her hand back into his again. _I’ll catch you if you start to fall,_ the promise had rolled off of his tongue too easily and the fact that it had come from _him_ , a man who had been incapable of anything but murder and had never cared for anyone else in his life, made it all the more special. She knew that he had meant it, and it only made her mind disconnect from her heart further.

Lancelot couldn’t remember the last time that he had been this far south. The River Wren had started to taper off into its constituent valleys and streams and he could tell that they were getting close to where the Druid had said to go. He wondered how the Fey would have gotten off of their ships unseen since Byzantine was a port village, this much he did know. Perhaps they docked somewhere else or ran aground further along the coast? He would find out soon enough.

He couldn't quite understand why Ari wasn't completely looking at him, why she was shying away her gaze from his eyes as if he was burning her. Just when he started to work her out, she shifted and he was back to the start again. He didn't need to think too hard to remember how they were the night before, how he held her hand in his and promised not to let her fall. He didn’t even recognise himself as he thought back on it. He still felt it, the touch of her skin lingering like a dream he didn't want to wake up from between his fingers. He was about to get lost in his own mind as they walked along between the trees when, 

“What do you think would have happened to you if _the Burning Night_ didn’t happen?” Lancelot’s eyes came over to Squirrel from atop his great horse. The child always came out with the most random questions, and this one was strangely wise and ominous for the child. _Perhaps you don’t give the boy enough credit?_ Squirrel had listened to Ari’s stories and their conversations and had pieced several of the facts together by now.

Lancelot hadn’t ever thought about what the boy was asking. His mouth twisted, “I would have inherited my father’s title, most likely,” he trailed off at the end as his voice dampened off. The casual shift in his voice startled even himself.

“You said he was the Ash folk’s leader?” Ari raised her brows lightly as she nudged Dusty around between a couple of trees. This area was a little denser than what they had been riding through before and the two horses were separated parallel to each other by several lengths.

“He was noble, yes,” Lancelot nodded, manoeuvring his own horse through the woods. He always kept an eye on them though, making sure that they were alright.

Squirrel’s forehead creased, he had not expected Lancelot to be nobility. Perhaps there was a conversation he had missed if Ari already knew this detail. He tutted lightly from before her in the saddle.

“What?” Ari questioned Squirrel lightly, angling her gaze at the back of his head as she poked his side.

Squirrel smirked, looking back over his shoulder, “you two really do talk a lot without me,” he said slyly. Ari stole a glance at Lancelot and he just rolled his eyes away.

Lancelot's heart jumped just a little bit because she finally looked at him, it was only a glance but it was better than nothing. In a past life he wouldn't have cared about being ignored this way, he was used to it, to people avoiding his weeping eyes. But her avoiding him was almost painful.

“That technically makes you noble as well,” Ari pondered aloud, coming back to what he had said.

He looked at her with a level of distaste, knowing full well that he was the one single Fey that least deserved the honour of that title the most. He felt the need to pull on his hood, it was already up but he felt a need to hide himself beneath it further. He ignored the need.

“I don’t deserve it,” he refused, spurring Goliath into a short trot up the mound of earth. He couldn’t be noble, he couldn’t hold a position of authority, not over the Fey. Not after what he’d done. He felt her eyes watching him and when he shifted his gaze over in that direction, she was grinning at him.

“You know, there is really only one person who can say if you deserve it or not,” she cocked a brow at him, her grin still sitting delicately.

Lancelot’s puzzled look faded into a smirk as he rolled his eyes lightly away. Sometimes he forgot just exactly who she was, of the power that she held. They were each silent for a few minutes as they walked on, letting the birds above them entertain them with their songs. The sun was warm and the sky was clear, it was indeed a beautiful day.

“Do you remember your home?” Squirrel asked the air but the question was presumably aimed at Lancelot. His fingers played in the base of Dusty’s mane lazily.

Lancelot’s insides twisted when the boy spoke. He remembered bits, like the light stone of the castle walls and the colours of the banners which flew, he remembers fighting with his half brother in the courtyard. The castle was close to the Sunborn court and the two were burnt down to nothing on the same night. The Ash community had always lived close around the castle, and so they perished on that night as well, all except him.

“Joyous Gard,” Ari said abruptly. Squirrel and Lancelot both twisted and looked to her, but the latter recognised the name. Lancelot’s face shifted back to his prior puzzled expression.

“That’s it’s name right? The home of your ancestors,” Ari guessed. She knew of the name and actually thought it quite a strange one for a castle. If her estimation was correct then Lancelot had lived further north than her camp, near to the Sunborn court but closer to the coast in the east.

Lancelot’s face contorted as he looked at her, “How do you-”

“It wasn’t too difficult to put the pieces together from what you’ve said,” she cut him off, “my father taught me well.” She smiled humbly for a moment at him and then changed to something more serious, “Have you been, since...” she trailed off, knowing that he would see through her question. _Have you been since the night you were taken?_

Before he even thought to answer her question, Lancelot’s mind went to her father. He’d go for hours without thinking about him, allowing himself to just get consumed and lost in Ari and the boy, and then something like this where she simply mentioned him brought his guilt right back up to the surface. Lancelot inhaled and pushed it all away, answering quickly before the unnecessary silence went on for any longer.

“No,” he said quietly, turning back towards the trail Goliath was navigating as he clamped his jaw. The Ash castle was abandoned and lay in ruins, there was no need for him to go, he didn’t want to.

Ari saw the muscles in his face tense. She pursed her lips, deciding that she wouldn’t press further.

Lancelot didn’t want _this_ to be the mood that he was in for the rest of their journey, so he circled the initial question back to Ari.

“What about you? If _it_ didn’t happen?” Ari raised her brows at Lancelot’s question, she sighed heavily. He had done that before, refused to address the event by the name it had been given, _the Burning Night._ Perhaps the memory was just too raw.

“I wouldn’t be alive,” she said the phrase almost too casually and it unnerved Lancelot a little.

Squirrel’s eyes widened and he twisted in the saddle, grimacing at her. If he wasn’t confused before, then he definitely was now.

Ari chuckled at the similar look on both of their faces, Lancelot’s a dampened version of Squirrel’s but it was still comical to her all the same.

“It was circumstance that my parents were the two Sunborns who survived,” she said, “I was born in the following summer, so if there was no _burning night_ then there would be no me.” She shrugged lightly, her eyes glancing between the pair of them as she rested a hand on her thigh, letting her body sway along with Dusty’s steps.

Lancelot watched her, a little perplexed. He chided himself internally for forgetting that she was born in the aftermath of the Burning Night. _At least there was one good thing to come from that day_. He felt the guilt of his secret creeping up… _again_. It had slipped his mind that she had not been born yet, for her strength and her wisdom made her appear so much older than she was.

They rode through the afternoon and stopped about half an hour before the sun disappeared behind the clouds, cloaking the forest in darkening shadows and leaving enough time for Lancelot to hunt. They had found a rock face which stuck out like a canopy from the uneven land as shelter, it wasn’t much but it was better than nothing and protected them from the forthcoming winds and snow in the night. They fell into their usual routine as they started to settle beneath the rocky outcrop.

“It’s going to snow again,” she said, glancing up to the now grey sky. She doesn’t know how she knows but it’s something in the air, in the silence that comes before the clouds break and the snowflakes flurry to the ground. She’d always put it down to just being another part of her unexplained powers. Ari used the other element of her abilities to direct Lancelot through the forest towards where their supper was foraging amongst the bushes.

“Not bad,” Lancelot raised his eyebrows up at her, letting his words sit as a complement to her powers as he dropped the pheasant beside the fire, letting the bow and quiver follow. 

Ari smiled up at him in response but when he smiled shyly back, her lips broke into a grin and she had to pull her eyes away, picking up the unfortunate bird as she began to prepare it for their meal. And just like that, the constant flutter in her heart was set in motion.

~•~

Ari looked at Squirrel from across the fire which was heating their breakfast, he did not look well this morning. He looked pale, and cold. She realised that he’d been that way for a couple of days now, ever since she could remember after waking up from her fall. Ari turned her head to Lancelot across their small camp who was turning the rabbit over the fire.

“Did you not keep him warm whilst I was-” she asked him with a slow tilt of her head, allowing him to infer the question’s end. He looked up to her as soon as she had started to speak.

“He was too busy keeping _you_ warm, he wouldn’t let you go,” Squirrel shivered, answering Ari’s question unexpectedly on behalf of the man who was glaring at him with an irritated look.

Ari pointed a glance at the boy, trying to gather his meaning and then turned to Lancelot, who shied away from her then beneath his hood. He felt her eyes on him as she realised then what he had done for her, how he had held her to keep her body warm.

“Lancelot?” She coaxed him lowly to look at her, voice softening with a kind concern as her eyes tried to reach his. She didn’t know why he was hiding from her.

Lancelot would not meet her gaze, as if that would somehow make the conversation go away. He shifted on the ground uncomfortably as he rotated the rabbit, gripping on to the stick a little more than necessary.

Squirrel picked at the blanket as he tried to bury himself further into it, hiding away from the morning chill. His voice came out muffled.

“He held you like a baby for two days, I thought he was never going to put you down.” The boy had a way of saying too much when he was tired and cranky, he had not slept well which was odd for him.

Lancelot bit down, looking slowly up to Ari through his eyelashes. He could see that there were tears beginning to form in her eyes and he didn’t know why, she had not remembered how he had held her. He felt his heart chasing after him and he could not take the fluttering any longer, the instinct to run away from himself was strong, and he listened to it.

He stood up suddenly and walked away. Lancelot didn’t want her to know what he had done, he wanted it just for himself. He knew that she could not care for him like he was doing for her. If she knew how he had held her tight then she would also know his feelings, and he did not like being exposed like that. To be vulnerable was a weakness, and these feelings were new, he did not know what to do with them.

Ari’s jaw dropped open subconsciously as Lancelot got to his feet, his reaction was more telling than perhaps he had thought it would be. Her eyes turned quickly to Squirrel who seemed content enough by the fire, so she pushed herself onto her own feet and followed after Lancelot. He had moved fast and she had to jog to try and catch up.

Lancelot heard her call his name but he did not slow down, pushing on through between the trees.

“Would you stop, _please?_ ” Ari said as she started to cough shallowly, her boots stumbling through the dirt. Perhaps trying to follow a man who moved like lightening a few days after almost dying was a mistake.

Lancelot stopped his feet and sighed deeply, his mouth hardening into a line. He felt bad for making her run, he should have known that she would have tried to follow him yet he did not turn back.

Ari caught up to Lancelot and came to stand in front of him, blocking his path. Her hand hovered between them to stop him from moving again whilst she got her breath back. Her brows knitted together in confusion as he tried to avoid her eyes.

“What did he mean?” She had a feeling that she knew but she wanted him to say it.

Lancelot’s eyes flashed to hers but he looked away, feeling his own breath labouring.

Ari sighed, her head inclining towards one side as she tried to reach him again.

“Please, talk to me,” she begged. Her arm dropped down to rest at her side and her frown seemed to deepen somehow, “Have I done something?”

“No,” he answered her quickly, his hands fidgeting by his sides as usual when he was nervous.

“Then what is it? Why did you walk away?” She was curious but her tone was light.

Lancelot could not look her in the eye. He was usually so composed and still but now to Ari he looked like he was writhing in pain on the inside, like he was fighting with himself. He struggled to form his sentence, looking rather ashamed.

“Squirrel was not lying. I held you when you were asleep, I should not have but you were cold, I wanted to keep you safe,” his voice was stiff as he stammered out his admission, shifting on his feet as he avoided her eyes. “I crossed a line, I am sorry.”

Lancelot moved round her abruptly as he tried to run away from his vulnerability, _again_. Ari caught his balled fist under his cloak, stopping him from moving any further unless he dragged her with him. He felt his teeth grind together, he wanted to push her away but he could not find the strength in himself to do it.

Ari had never seen him fumble with his words like this, he had no reason to be ashamed or to be sorry for his actions. She was still somewhat perplexed but she pushed it aside.

“You did nothing wrong,” she said strongly, reassuring him. He had held her close to keep her warm and it most definitely had saved her life. Perhaps he was afraid to touch her, maybe that’s why he was ashamed to have held her, but his arms around her like that would not have been the first time that his hands had touched her body at that point. Different circumstance, _yes_ , but still it had happened. She could understand how something like this would make him feel wrong as someone who had likely never held another, as someone who had grown up the way that he had, isolated from contact with most others and especially from women.

Ari could see him closing off his emotions before her. The poor man had never really been touched gently or indeed touched another in a similar way, his hands had only known murder until Ari came along. They had held each other’s hands two nights before and Ari had seen it in his face then how that was the first time that had happened for him. Lancelot turned back to her slowly, not quite meeting her eyes as he twisted on his heel.

“It does not bother you?” His rasped tone seemed to smoothen out into something gentle yet curious. The feeling of her hand so close to his once again sent a nervous shiver up through his spine.

“I am grateful. You saved my life,” Ari shook her head earnestly in response. Lancelot seemed to calm down a little, his shoulders visibly relaxing beneath his cloak though the rest of him was still tense. She thought that he was making a bigger deal out of this than it actually was, but Lancelot’s perception of relationships were always going to be a little skewed. The best thing that she could do would be to reassure him that he had done right. He came back to her slowly, searching her face. Her fingers were still cupped together around the back of his fist.

“Thank you, Lancelot,” she said genuinely, unexpected tears lining the rims of her eyes. He had indeed saved her life and she hadn’t known just exactly how much he had kept her alive until now.

Something whispered on a breeze and they both heard it, the air shifted to something new which filled the silence between them, something comfortable yet rife with a nervous anticipation to step into the unknown. It felt like two nights before as they sat within the hollow tree, neither of them knowing quite what to do then or now.

Ari’s jaw wavered as she tried to think of something else to say, some other way to thank him, but there were no words. She saw how his face changed to concern as she forgot how to speak. Ari did not need words.

She brought her other hand to where theirs were joined and lifted them up, bowing her head and bringing his knuckles to her lips delicately for a moment. The action took Lancelot by surprise and he froze, resisting the urge to shift his weight in the snow. As she held his hand the world seemed to disappear, the branches creaking overhead his only unwanted distraction.

It felt odd yet, _nice_ , no lips had ever touched his skin before. He hated that it only made him grow fonder of her, the gold that would never be his. The pink crept out from his nose and he was glad that she wasn’t looking at him then, for he couldn’t handle it if she did.

Squirrel smiled at them from under the blanket, his eyes peeping out over the edge just enough to watch them. The child knew exactly what his words were prompting and it had worked.

Ari sighed and opened her eyes, lowering his hand to let it go. She had practically leapt across the line between them and she didn’t know if it had been too much. Ari stole a glance at his face for just a second to gauge his reaction and he did not look put off by her gesture. His features were soft and she could see the smallest of smiles tugging at his lips, rather like he looked two nights before. The snow reflected the light up into his crystal eyes and they were so clear and blue that she could drown all over again.

Lancelot didn’t want her to let go, he wanted them to stay this way and he couldn’t comprehend why.

Ari cleared her throat, feeling a little awkward as she stepped back. Ari knew her action just now had blurred the line even further between them, even more so than how holding his hand within the hollowed out tree had done. Whatever this connection was between them, she did not know how to navigate it, and she guessed that he didn’t either.

Lancelot’s expression did not change, if anything he was also a little confused. Her gesture was not something that friends did, he didn’t need to have had experience with friendship to know this. It was intimate and bold and he didn’t know what to do with himself. He saw her try to hide a smile as she turned and retraced her steps, in no rush to get back to the camp.

The secret that he was keeping from her gnawed away at his insides as he watched her walk away. He felt guilty for hiding the truth, especially after what she’d just done for him, _after everything she’d done for him_. He rubbed a hand over his eye to push the guilt away as he started to follow her back. What was he doing? She had only ever been open and honest with him and he was withholding the one piece of information that would change her life completely. She would surely hate him if she found out. He’d kept many secrets in his life, had told many lies to many people, none of which whom he truly cared for. But withholding the truth from _her_? _How do you lie to someone you love?_ Even if it is to protect them? To keep them safe? He felt the veins in his neck twitch as his mind pushed him off balance. _Love_ , he hadn’t named the feeling that he had within him before. _It isn’t love, it can’t be... can it?_

Squirrel lowered his nose back under the blanket, closing his eyes quickly and pretending that he had not seen anything as Ari walked back and sat down again. When he heard the recognisable heavier footsteps, he opened his eyes discretely and caught Lancelot’s attention. The boy wriggled his eyebrows at the man in a way not too dissimilar to how he had done at the abbey, and Lancelot responded in a similar way.

~•~

They had spoken little since the morning, letting Squirrel and his never ending ramblings fill the delicate air between them, neither of them knowing quite what to say. Ari was thankful though because it’s in the quiet, in the moments of silence when the world stops turning and your thoughts disappear when you can truly start to understand another. She noticed the intonations in his voice softening, becoming less stifled like a caged bird finally being allowed to spread out its wings. His lip, it wasn’t as still and quirked up more often when he spoke, reflecting the words that he were giving more freely. His shoulders, he still held them up like he was trained to do but they were not as tense. She didn’t know why she’d realised these things, these little details, but in each moment of silence when she looked at him she could see them, and it warmed her bruised little soul.

Lancelot looked like a different person when he slept, younger and at peace with the world. She watched as his breathing was steady and even beside her beneath the pale moonlight. She wished that he would get to stay like this forever, for as soon as he awoke then all of his troubles would come flooding back and the world would no longer be at peace with him. Her hand reached out and she brushed the stray curl away behind his ear. How fate could have been so cruel to him she did not know. She started to stop reminding herself of the things that he had done, they suddenly did not matter to her as much and that was a dangerous thing for the queen of the Fey to do. There was a feeling, it welled within her as her fingers lingered near his skin. It was a feeling she had not felt for years. _You’ve been alone for long enough now,_ and perhaps Zurah was right _._

He watched her as she slept peacefully, like the universe had always been kind to her. Life had forced her to harden and yet she had not given in to the pressure completely. She had been through many things, lived with so much grief and yet she was still able to pick herself back up and smile. She held things back, _yes_ , but didn’t everybody? He didn’t understand why she was kind to him, _patient_. It had taken her a while, understandably, but she got there and he was grateful. He didn’t ask for it but she gave him a comfort that he had no experience with. He found himself seeking to touch her more though he rarely let it happen, nothing grand or obscene but little things to remind him that she is alive like his fingers brushing over her sleeve to get her attention. He doesn’t know if she had noticed and he was too afraid to ask, for it would acknowledge the thing that was growing within him and her answer would either put his feelings down or make them grow further. The feeling of her lips on his knuckles still lingered as he ran his hand over them and held onto the moment. He had never dealt with this before, and wished that he were an ordinary Fey just so he would likely have someone to ask about it. She shifted beneath the blanket and her hair fell across her face. He debated for many moments but eventually reached out his steady but untrained scarred fingers, brushing the silver strands away from her eyes and gently tucked them behind her ear. He let her sleep for just a little while longer.

~•~

Fresh snow fell in the morning just as Ari had predicted, waking each of them up earlier than they had hoped. Ari eyed the boy, a warning of sorts for she knew what he was about to do. Squirrel’s tongue stuck out and ran over his lips as he stood himself up, taking aim. He raised his arm and flung it forward, hitting his target.

Lancelot stopped in his tracks at whatever had just hit him in the back, the boy shouting his pride at his aim from across the camp filled his ears. Lancelot turned slowly, his face darkening as he looked the boy in the eye, silencing his joy.

Squirrel closed his mouth and stood still, swallowing the lump in his throat and suddenly feeling as small as a mouse under the man’s threatening stare. Lancelot started to cross the camp towards him and Squirrel stepped back, his eyes starting to widen in fear. The man moved quicker and Squirrel turned on his heels and decided to run. He did not get far before something came around his chest under his arms and he was lifted into the air, twirled in a circle as snow hit him in his face.

Ari saw how Lancelot’s face changed as the boy turned away and began to run, it shifted from a feigned anger into somewhat of a grin as he scooped some snow into his hand. He caught the boy and lifted him up easily to his chest, turning them both on his heel as he chucked the snow in the boy’s face. Ari had not said a word to stop Lancelot. She knew that he would not hurt the child, and she had hoped that he might have seen the lighter side of what the boy had done.

Squirrel’s hands came up and wafted at the air, his face scrunching from the cold of the snow as he spat out what had landed in his mouth. Lancelot dropped the boy to his feet and didn’t bother to hide the fact that Squirrel’s face of disgust amused him. Squirrel wiped at the freezing cold snow on his face as his eyes looked angrily up to Lancelot who had stepped a couple of paces away, still towering over the child.

“What was that for?” The dent between Squirrel’s brows deepened, his tongue still lapping to get the snowy taste out of his mouth.

“You started it,” Lancelot shrugged stiffly at the boy. His tone was still quiet and husked as usual but it was playful, an unusual combination. He didn’t know what has come over him this morning.

Squirrel pouted at the man like a tiny raging bull and Lancelot couldn’t help but laugh to himself at the boy’s angered expression. Before he knew it, Squirrel had moved fast and gathered more snow, throwing it in Lancelot’s direction. Unfortunately for the boy, Lancelot was faster than him, and his hands were able to carry more than twice as much snow.

Ari just watched with a grin that reached her eyes as the boys fought it out, dodging each other’s attempts to land a snowball on the other. Squirrel ran across and ducked behind a rock, using it as cover from Lancelot’s advancements. The boy used the time to produce a litter of snowballs which he could reel off one after the other, and he did, sticking his head up over the rock and launching them at Lancelot. The Ash man was good, and caught more of them than not, throwing them back at the boy.

Lancelot looked happy, she had never seen him like this, grinning openly as he threw his ammo at the child who was doing his best to hurl meaningless insults as well as snow. Seeing them this way felt like she was watching two brothers play fighting, or maybe even like a father and a son. She suddenly felt sad for Lancelot, at his childhood that was stolen away from him. The beating heart within her chest swelled, he could have had this years ago but his God had thrusted war and discipline upon him instead.

Soon Lancelot stopped, and he used the time whilst Squirrel was reloading his stock to glance back over his shoulder at Ari, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath back. Her golden eyes were already on him and her head was cocked to one side. She was smiling widely at him, trying and failing to hide it beneath her hand as her thumbnail rested between her teeth. Lancelot felt his cheeks pull his mouth into a softer smile, one just for her, and they did. He felt his breath slowing as he got lost in her endearing expression, pulling at his heartstrings within its cage. It was like the world around him went quiet for once and he could see things clearly.

Lancelot’s attention on Ari was broken by a well placed snowball to the side of his head.

“Ha!” Squirrel laughed, “I win!” He proclaimed, walking around the rock to Lancelot’s side. He swatted at the man’s arm and whispered, “You shouldn’t have let yourself get distracted by a woman.” Lancelot frowned at him, but the boy was more right than perhaps he had known. Squirrel tutted and rolled his eyes, sauntering proudly back over to the camp with his victory.

Lancelot stole another glance at Ari who was trying to hide her smile beneath her hand again, she lowered her gaze from him and poked at the fire with a stick to distract herself. After all that had happened, she was glad that they could have this, a moment to forget about all of their troubles and just enjoy being alive.

Lancelot walked back towards them, feeling something flowing through his veins that he couldn’t recall ever having before. He pushed his hood down and wafted it to break off the snowflakes. The boy looked up at him smugly, satisfied with his apparent victory.

“Percival,” Lancelot acknowledged the boy with his actual name just to annoy him.

“That’s _Sir Percival_ to you, _Lancelot_ ,” he clicked out Lancelot’s own name, just to annoy him.

“What?” He frowned down at the boy as he took his place nearby on a rock.

“You will address me as, _Sir Percival,_ ” the boy said smugly.

Ari chuckled, “Squirrel, what are you talking about?”

He turned to her, “The Green Knight, he knighted me at the Paladin camp before they caught me.” Ari looked to Lancelot who shrugged, he had no idea. It sounded like something Gawain might have done.

“You know, Knights cannot _knight_ one another,” Ari said, feeling a little sorry for bursting Squirrel’s happy bubble.

The boy looked like he was starting to deflate, his face dropped down, “What?”

“She’s right,” Lancelot said and the boy turned to him.

“But, but Gawain said-”

“Who _can_ Knight someone?” Lancelot interrupted him before the boy made himself any more upset.

“I don’t know,” The boy shrugged, sniffling as he looked down at the ground.

Lancelot took a glance at Ari and back to the boy. He rolled his eyes a little, “Think about it.”

Squirrel shrugged again, “I don’t know, kings and queens or something.” The boy looked down at his lap, fiddling with a twig.

Lancelot moved his focus over to Ari again, shaking his head with a vague grin at the boy’s inability to figure out what he himself had actually just said.

Ari cleared her throat in an obvious fashion, and watched as the boy’s eyes widened and looked up to gape at her. She smiled at him.

“You could Knight me!” Squirrel exclaimed and practically fell forwards in excitement.

Ari chuckled, shaking her head softly, “Squirrel you are too young to be a knight, and you have no training-”

“Lancelot could teach me!” He turned quick like lightening to the man who looked a little panicked.

“I am not a knight,” Lancelot frowned.

“No but, you defeated Gawain, the Paladins, the Trinity guard. You might be the best warrior we have! You could teach me!” Squirrel practically bounced on his backside and shuffled closer to Lancelot. Ari had to stop the boy before he got ahead of himself.

“Squirrel,” she chuckled again, drawing his attention back to her, “when you are old enough, and _if_ you train hard and well,” she stressed the ‘if’ element, “then I will make you a knight.”

Squirrel’s whole face beamed with excitement. He stood up abruptly, picking up a nearby stick in the clearing which was about long enough and tried to practice with it, slicing it through the air. In truth the boy had no idea what he was doing but that didn’t stop him, he had seen both Lancelot and Ari fight enough for him to figure things out.

Lancelot stood up and came to sit beside Ari, “He will not sleep tonight, you know that right?”

He relaxed down next to her, his words flowing more freely than usual, had they rhymed? So often it was her moving to him that it took Ari by surprise that _he_ came to _her_ this time. Her heartbeat picked up its pace, a reaction to _what_ exactly she did not know.

Ari hummed in response, “He's been through so much. It’s good to see him happy,” she stole a glance at Lancelot, “and you,” she added.

Lancelot’s eyes flicked over to her, his heart aching within his chest. Ari had always been a brutally soft woman but even now sometimes her kind words still surprised him. He didn’t know what to say in response so he stayed quiet. He did indeed feel happy, or something that was resembling it. He had not felt actual happiness in such a long time that he doubted if this is what that feeling was. He frowned a little as he tried to rationalise his own emotions into something that he could name.

Ari smiled gently at him and cocked her head, noting the position of his eyebrows.

“Don't tell me you didn’t enjoy that,” she teased lightly.

Lancelot’s head lowered as he smiled once again bashfully to himself, “I did.”

Ari’s hand reached out and squeezed his arm resting in the air over his bent up knees, his low husk, as usual, satisfying her ears. Her eyes unknowingly drifted down to his lips, lingering there for a moment too long before she drew them and her hand away quickly, feeling her cheeks redden in the silence.

Lancelot caught how she had blushed and locked the memory away into a special place of his mind. They were quiet for a moment as the boy twisted through the snow, wafting his stick around in the air with a fierce determination on his face. He swatted at a couple of rocks as if they were his enemy.

“I used to fight with my brother,” Lancelot said lowly, “though, not like that,” he admitted. His face had dropped to match his voice. Play fighting with Squirrel had stirred up the vague memories, the more he tried to remember his old life the more that his mind unlocked. Things came in bits and pieces but they were still there, just buried far down beneath the surface.

Ari chose her words carefully, the topic of Lancelot’s family was an open wound. No, it was more than that, it was a vast hole in his life that could never be filled.

“What was his name?” She asked gingerly. Lancelot stayed quiet for a few moments, like he was determining if giving away that detail was something he wanted to do or not.

“Hector,” he said flatly, eyes staying trained on Squirrel. Ari was getting good at reading him. She could see there was something else, not just pain for his loss but a different kind of pain mixed in across his face, almost like regret.

“You did not get on with one another?” She saw how Lancelot’s jaw clench at her question. She had not herself experienced what she was guessing that their relationship was like from the way he was speaking.

“I was... not kind to him,” he sighed heavily, “for a reason that does not matter now. It never should have mattered.” He trailed off his words and blinked away in the other direction from her. He schooled his emotions, _his guilt_ , and reined them in, “I cannot change what happened between us.”

~•~

They mounted the horses and carried on until it grew dark, seeking shelter in the safety of the trees just off of the river. Ari and Lancelot sat together quietly whilst Squirrel fought off invisible attackers and sliced at the trees with his makeshift sword, just like he had done in the morning. The boy was nothing but determined to one day become a knight like Gawain. The horses were tied off to the side and were quite contempt to pluck at whatever grass they could find beneath the snow. Lancelot’s eyes had wandered off to the trees, and he did not notice how she was staring.

“You okay?” Ari asked. Lancelot had been notably more quiet than usual since the morning. She thought that perhaps their brief conversation about his brother had stirred up some complex feelings, and Lancelot was just doing what he knew how to do. He was internalising whatever was going on in his mind and torturing himself by letting it all dance and swirl within its confines. Little did she know just how much was going through his head right then.

His eyes dragged round to her, their infinite blue reflecting in the firelight before them. Lancelot gave her a look, forehead pinching, _am I okay?_ She was the one who had almost died a week earlier, why was she so concerned about him?

“You’re being quiet,” she observed. He had always been the silent type, but she found herself wanting more and more to know what was going on in that complex mind of his.

His mind had wandered to his secret, to her father before she interrupted his thoughts. Lancelot wondered where the Fey was now that he was no longer following as his shadow. Now that Lancelot knew the old king’s scent clearer, he couldn’t find it in the air. Perhaps that’s why he hadn’t thought about his secret for a while, or perhaps he was just trying to push it away. If he ignored it, then it wouldn’t exist and he wouldn’t have to keep on letting himself grow closer to Ari whilst knowing that he was hiding something from her. He wouldn’t tell her, not if he didn’t have all of the information. He barely understood it himself, so how could he make her understand it either? Her father had been vague on purpose and it had just left Lancelot hanging in the dark. Lancelot went for something else that had been pawing at his mind instead.

“Why did you offer yourself? To the Paladins?” He asked, hushing his voice from the boy’s ears.

Ari sighed, his question was unexpected but it was bound to come at some point. She shrugged her shoulders gently.

“I have to protect my people,” she said plainly, _truthfully_ , “that includes you now.” His features relaxed as he looked at her, his concerned gaze softening and making her start to flush once more. Ari cleared her throat, turning sharply to the face the boy, “And Squirrel, of course.” She pointed up to the child for extra emphasis, diverting the attention from Lancelot.

Lancelot did not miss how her cheeks grew pinker like they did in the morning and how her lip caught between her teeth. Was she nervous? She made his heart ache for things he didn’t know in so many ways. He didn’t realise how his eyes held onto her longingly.

“Thank you,” he said. Ari dared to turn back to him, knowing full well how flustered she looked right then. He leaned closer into her slowly and she felt herself not wanting to lean away.

“But,” he started, teasing her with his rasp in a way that was new, “do not do it again, please?” He raised his eyebrows at her somewhat smugly and Ari had to force her grin to not show. “I would rather not get that wet again any time soon,” he joked in a way that should have sounded threatening with his husk but it didn’t. He let his lips tug up at the corner in a smug, shallow crooked smile. The after effects of being submerged in the river had indeed been a very cold and damp inconvenience for both of them.

Ari blew out a laugh as her face drew away to look down into her lap. His unfamiliar genuinely lighthearted tone had pulled at her heartstrings and she didn’t know how else to disguise it. She was glad that he was opening up to her, settling in to the person that she knew he could be. He had blamed himself for what had happened but she had reassured him that it wasn’t his fault, and maybe he was accepting that now.

Lancelot found himself falling in what might be love with the sound, with making her laugh. Nobody had ever just laughed _with_ him and not _at_ him before. It was something more, something that ran deeper than just lust. He hadn’t coveted her in _that_ _way_ before, her reassuring presence and her comfort was what he was craving most. But as he watched her now, laughing to herself shyly in this way, her face lit up like he’d never seen it before and maybe, _just maybe_ , he coveted her sinfully _that way_ too. An unexpected tingle spread up from the base of his spine and settled just beneath his ear, shifting him more off balance than he would have liked. He still felt some of the reservations that were trained into him, he fought with them in his mind but he was learning how to let them go.

“I’ll try,” Ari said lightly in response to his request, cocking an eyebrow as she brought her eyes back up to him, “but I make no promises.” Her silvery voice soothed over Lancelot’s lost soul as his mouth inevitably turned up at one corner.

Ari exhaled deeply. She felt so comfortable with him that she thought it could not be true. The arms of a traitor had come to be her safety in this kingdom of war and his eyes were an escape from all of her pain. She knew it was wrong of her, and she did not know how long this feeling could last, so she just breathed it in freely whilst she still could.

Ari saw Lancelot’s eyes drop to her lips for a brief second and she let hers do the same. She felt her palm tingle, _no_ , she would not push, _she couldn’t_. Ari sighed and turned her eyes away, stifling a feigned yawn in the growing darkness as she tried to push the heat away from her face.

Lancelot’s hands threaded tighter together over his knees. They itched to just reach out to her. The action would be so simple, but he just didn’t know how, so he held himself back like he had been trained to do.

~•~

Lancelot opened his eyes when something nudged him by his hip. His gaze shifted down quickly, _Ari_. She had rolled and practically head butted him in the thigh. He chuckled briefly but only on the inside and silently looked down at her bundled up beneath the moonlight. He let a smile start to pull at his lips whilst there was nobody watching except maybe his God or the Hidden to judge him for it. How she had not woken herself up he honestly did not know. A sigh escaped from him as he unfurled his crossed arms and readjusted the blanket around her body, manoeuvring it to make more of a pillow beneath her cheek.

“I told you you liked her,” Squirrel’s tiny voice mumbled from beneath his own blanket.

“Why are you awake?” Lancelot deadpanned quietly, not even sparing the boy a glance as he recrossed his arms. He was mildly annoyed that Squirrel had caught him watching over Ari this way, had caught him smiling at her. 

“It’s cold,” Squirrel mumbled again, shuffling beneath his covers.

Lancelot looked across at him then, at his face pale like the snow and the pink across his nose and cheeks. He sighed, not bothering to speak. Lancelot lifted the edge of his cloak and held it out by his other side like a wing.

Squirrel opened his eyes at the faintest noise of Lancelot moving and eyed him carefully as Lancelot just stared back at him, waiting with his arm held out wide. He couldn’t understand why Lancelot did some of the things that he did, but right now he was offering warmth and the boy would be an idiot to refuse.

Squirrel sniffled and gently stood up, still wrapped within his blanket and walked around Lancelot’s long legs to his side. He gave the man an odd look that Lancelot couldn’t decipher as he dropped to the ground and then balled himself up against his side, burrowing beneath his cloak. Lancelot tugged his sleeves a little further down his wrists and kept a hand on the hem of the cloak, keeping it secured as it wrapped around Squirrel and the boy fell back to sleep.

~•~

The grounded snow remained frozen in the cold morning and Ari guessed that they would still be travelling through a white forest for at least a few more days, for the chill in the air had dropped. She knew of a place where they could rest, it was not too far away, but she held back from saying anything for now for she did not know how Lancelot might react. Squirrel was messing with Goliath in a playful way after they’d broken their fast. The horse was being patient with the child but what came next was fully deserved.

“Ugh yuck!” Squirrel spat to the ground, wiping his sleeve over his face. Lancelot and Ari both looked up from their opposite ends across their camp within the trees at the sudden noise that came from the boy.

“He tried to kiss me!” Squirrel exclaimed with disgust, stepping back from the horse. Goliath tossed his head back a few times like he was laughing at the child. Ari tried to hide her amused smile but she was failing. She teased the boy,

“That your first kiss? Could have picked a better looking horse.” She offered an apologetic look to Lancelot who narrowed his eyes at her briefly with the insult to his friend. Squirrel stepped back towards them.

“Yuck, it’s disgusting, _never happening_ ,” he grimaced, still wiping his hands furiously at his face.

“How would you know?” Lancelot asked smugly, taking a swig from his water skin.

“ _How would you?_ ” The boy shot back at him, and Lancelot’s smug smile faded away. Ari saw his face redden, Squirrel noticed it too.

“That’s what I thought,” Squirrel jested the poor man who was clearly at unease with the sudden change in attention onto him, his eye-line diverting away from them all. Ari tried to rescue Lancelot’s embarrassment.

“Leave him be,” she said light heartedly in Squirrel’s direction, packing her water skin back into her saddlebag in her lap.

“Why would anyone want to kiss someone else, it’s-” Squirrel made a snotty noise from within his throat to vocalise just how gross he found it. He found himself once again not understanding the world of adults.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Ari laughed, settling her bag back down beside her.

“Why not?” The boy pouted. He was clever, why wouldn’t he understand?

“You’re a boy,” she deadpanned back at him, her head falling to one side.

“So?” Squirrel shrugged, “Lancelot’s grown and he doesn’t understand either,” he gestured to the man limply.

Lancelot’s jaw tightened as he hid his face down beneath his hood, hand clamping around his water skin. The boy was right, he had no experience with any of those types of relations. Lancelot didn’t know why they were even talking about this, or why he was getting so deeply uncomfortable.

“Squirrel,” Ari tried to save the man again more seriously this time.

“What? I’m just saying...” the boy trailed off, kicking at the dirt.

“I know,” Ari sighed, “just, _enough_ , okay?” Squirrel looked up to her and pursed his lips, sitting down in the dirt by the dying fire. Ari dared to look over at Lancelot when the boy was settled, knowing that this would have been a touchy subject for him, given that he was formerly a monk. Lancelot was still retreated within his hood, ashamed of the accusations that had been thrown his way. He knew that the boy was only joking childishly but his words had rung true. He stood abruptly and moved with intent towards Goliath.

Squirrel dodged out of Lancelot’s way as the man seemed to look like he was going to walk straight through him.

Lancelot put his water skin back into one of the saddle bags, “I’ll be back soon,” he said, turning and nodding to Ari before stalking off into the woods to calm himself down.

~•~

They rode the horses south following the river’s path through the morning and into the afternoon, stopping to allow them to drink. Lancelot wandered off into the forest to go about his business. He took the bow with him, just in case a lonely creature tried to get in his way.

“Where’s Ari?” Lancelot asked as he came back without an unfortunate creature.

“She’s over there,” Squirrel didn’t look up at him, pointing over around the rock towards the river. Lancelot’s heart beat a little quicker at the thought of her being by the water. His feet picked up before he knew it and he started walking in the direction the boy had pointed. Lancelot caught onto her scent, following the strengthening notes of wood violet until he found her.

He had noticed how her scent had changed. When he pulled her from the river it was non existent which terrified him, a sign that she was almost lost. Then as she started to heal it became stronger in his senses, cutting through above all the others, but it was… _different_. The tones of violet were still there but there was something else, he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. It was pleasant, _enticing,_ something he had never sensed in another before. He’d noticed it ever since they had attempted to cross swords and she had fallen into his steadying arms. 

He slowed when he heard her voice, singing quietly a soft song to the water in the distance, her fingers tapping at the last of the snow as she knelt at the river’s edge. As he got closer her voice became louder in his ears and he did not recognise the words, it was not the common tongue of the kingdom. Then her tone changed into something lighter, _heavenly almost_ , and it stopped him in his tracks. He had never heard such a voice in his lifetime, it _transfixed_ him, rooted him in his place.

Her hand pushed into the ground and it was like she was calling to the earth, beckoning for her to come forward and make herself known. The familiar golden glow came once more from her palm, he had seen it many times over the last week as she pulled the life from the earth to help her heal, but this time it looked different somehow. Perhaps it was his weeping eyes deceiving him, but the streaks and hues seemed to make shapes in the thin snow, he couldn’t see quite what they were.

The glow from Ari’s palm grew brighter as it danced but then an energy in the ground caught her attention and she turned suddenly, her hand pulling away from the earth to hover over where her dagger was laced within her boot. She almost gripped the blade before she recognised that it was Lancelot who had approached her. Her heartbeat calmed back down at the realisation but she shouldn’t have let her guard down in the first place, not after her last unexpected encounter. She cleared her voice.

“Ahh, I did not know you were standing there,” she said slowly, practically embarrassed as her words almost blended into one.

“You have a voice,” Lancelot’s brows and voice raised as he attempted a compliment, another thing that he wasn’t quite used to doing.

The way he was looking at her with wide blue eyes and wonder made Ari’s cheeks burn up. She sighed with a definite embarrassment, casting her eyes down to her lap to hide her blushing face away from him. _He’s just a man, get over it_. This giddiness she had now was annoying her, she couldn’t imagine how much Lancelot must have been annoyed by it as well.

“I have no voice,” she rebuked humbly as she began to stand, her head shaking side to side lightly. Lancelot tilted his head at her humility, her words were not true. He debated arguing back but knew that she would probably win even if he tried, he was more suited to the physical kinds of arguments. He revelled in the silence between them for a moment.

“What were you singing?” Lancelot asked, stepping closer towards her.

His low husk met her ears as she heard him step closer and Ari panicked just a little, “Ah, it’s a song about the forest, the earth, the connection between it and life,” she lied quickly. That was not what the words were saying at all, she dared to look up to him, the dark cloaked figure before her.

“That was not our tongue,” he stated the obvious with a vaguely confused expression as he kept on stepping closer, forearms resting lazily crossed over the hilt of his sword. He knew that Fey clans had their own languages and as strange as it was for _him_ in particular to admit, he was intrigued by them.

“No, it is high Fey, there aren’t too many left anymore who can understand it.” She brought her feet away from the river edge, “You probably heard it when you were at court but, obviously you wouldn’t remember that,” she trailed off as she looked away, drying her hands on her trousers as she chided herself internally for resurfacing those long lost memories in his mind.

Lancelot halted only half a step away from her feet. She was probably right but he hadn’t remembered hearing the language before, maybe that’s what she had mumbled in when she woke up in his arms days ago. A piece of her hair had fallen from the braid she had made and ran down her cheek. His fingers itched to push the light silver strands away but he wouldn’t, not yet. He didn’t know when the instinct to reach out to her had become so set in his bones but here he was, fighting with himself to have restraint and keep his hands crossed over his sword.

Ari looked back up with his silence, noticing just how close he was stood before her then. Her eyes trailed slowly up his chest, past his lips, the gentle pink from the cold across his nose and finally meeting his eyes, _them weeping blue eyes_. He was just gazing down at her, a gentle smile relaxed across his face. She felt her heart trying to run away from her, begging her to just reach out like she had done before, to just simply take his hand in hers one more time. His mouth started to part but as ever,

“You two just gonna stand there and stare at each other all day or what? Come on? Move your butts,” Squirrel commanded with all the authority of a headstrong young knight. Ari chuckled and broke her gaze down again to her feet. She was still smiling when she looked back up again and straight into the warm ocean eyes of Lancelot.

He dipped his head to the side and gestured his hand still resting over his sword, _shall we?_

Ari nodded shallowly and made her way to follow him.

~•~

“Please,” Squirrel begged, his hands clasped together in front of him as he followed Lancelot around the camp they had made in the valley between the trees. “Please,” he begged again, “I promise I won’t make a sound.”

Lancelot stopped his tracks abruptly and Squirrel ran straight into his side. He ran his lip through his teeth and looked down to the boy who was all but batting his eyelids up at the man, feigning an innocence that he knew the boy had grown out of.

“No,” he huffed and turned back around to fetch the bow from Goliath’s saddle.

“Ugh why not?” Squirrel groaned, starting to follow Lancelot with a huff.

“You have to stay with Ari,” Lancelot rebuffed, patting a hand over Goliath before removing the bow and quiver from his care.

“Erh, I _can_ look after myself,” Ari spoke up, sounding a little unimpressed with Lancelot’s insinuation.

Lancelot looked over Squirrel and down to where she was sat on a rock. He hadn’t intended to suggest that she couldn’t, this newfound protectiveness in him had just slipped off of his tongue and he didn’t think about it. He started to panic a little internally at the way that she was looking at him. He opened his mouth to say _something_ but Ari spoke again before he could.

“Stop worrying about me and take the boy with you,” she gestured off towards the trees, “he could perhaps learn a thing or two about patience,” she pointed a glance at Squirrel who just pursed his lips for a moment.

“You know I know how to use a bow,” Squirrel turned impatiently to Lancelot, “ _please_ ,” he stressed.

Lancelot rubbed his thumb across the grip on the bow and conceded, “fine.” He gripped the bow firmly in his hand and handed the quiver of arrows over to Squirrel.

“Yes!” The boy hissed and started to turn for the trees but Lancelot stopped him with a hand on his cloak.

“But if you don’t do what I tell you then I will leave you in the forest,” he looked down at the boy with a halfhearted frustration as he gave his empty threat.

Squirrel choked a laugh, “You wouldn’t do that,” he crossed his arms over his chest, hugging the quiver to his body. Lancelot’s face did not falter as he stared down at the boy. Squirrel’s face and shoulders dropped at Lancelot’s seriousness, “Would you?”

Lancelot quirked a brow and began to smirk. He turned on his heel and started off for the forest. Squirrel was left gaping as he watched Lancelot walk away, leaving him without an answer.

“Are you coming or not, Percival?” Lancelot called from the distance, his dark figure getting further and further away.

Ari laughed and broke the boy’s trance. Squirrel blinked suddenly and scurried off to catch up to the Ash man, “Hey wait for me!”

~•~

“Well that was a good rabbit if I do say so myself,” Squirrel licked his lips as he put the metal plate down into the dirt. The adults looked up to him, eyebrows raised. They had run out of their other food sources a few days prior and were relying on whatever Lancelot could catch, predictably he was yet to fail them.

Lancelot looked back down to pick at the last of his own plate, “We could have had two if you didn’t miss-”

Squirrel darted up onto his feet and clasped a tiny hand over Lancelot’s mouth to silence him from saying how he had missed a very, _very_ , easy shot.

“... miss Ari so much that we didn’t want to leave her alone any longer,” Squirrel finished Lancelot’s sentence for him quickly, making up an excuse. He grinned a little too widely at Ari across from Lancelot.

Ari chuckled at the boy’s failed attempt to cover up whatever had or hadn’t happened on the hunt, and at the odd look on Lancelot’s face, his eyebrows contorting into a weird curve that she had never seen on him before. His expression very much mimicked something that Squirrel might do.

Lancelot wasn’t fond in the slightest of Squirrel’s hand across his face and puffed air out through his mouth. Squirrel hastily pulled his hand away with disgusted sound leaving his lips.

“You missed the second one,” Lancelot smirked to Ari but chided the boy still standing behind him.

“I did not!” Squirrel tried to defend himself, moving into Lancelot’s eye line before the fire.

“You hit a rock,” Lancelot deadpanned, looking up at the boy.

“It was in the way!” Squirrel’s voice rose up the octave as he stared down the man.

“You broke an arrow,” Lancelot’s face blanked at the child.

Squirrel silenced and puffed out his cheeks as he looked down at the man angrily. He realised then that Lancelot was only messing with him.

“Yeah well the rock was in the way,” Squirrel huffed and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Mhm,” Lancelot hummed, letting the boy believe that.

Ari chuckled to herself at their bickering as she finished her own plate. Squirrel started grumbling something beneath his breath about rabbits and arrows, picking up a long stick from the ground and heading for a tree. He stuck his tongue out at Goliath as he walked past and the horse somehow managed to do the same in return.

The boy’s interaction with the horse reminded her of the conversation from the morning. Ari didn’t know if Lancelot was willing to return to that particular topic, but she was curious to know why exactly it had bothered him so much for a reason she wouldn’t name why.

“Ignore what Squirrel was saying earlier, in the morning about…” she caught his attention and he glanced briefly at her. “He was just joking-” she shook her head apologetically.

“He was right,” Lancelot cut in, understanding what she was referring to. He leant further forward on the rock, bracing himself over his knees, “I would not know.” His head hung down towards his chest again in shame but more likely embarrassment. He was a full grown man and yet he knew so little about things that were actually important in life instead of just murder and war.

Ari could not imagine being denied that type of connection with someone. At his age, Lancelot would likely have been joined already for a decade or more if he had grown up with the Fey, perhaps most likely even had his own children by now, but instead he had been forced into a life where he was ultimately going to end up alone.

Lancelot could see the confused look mixed with something else that she was giving him out of the corner of his eye, “I took vows, they did not allow for such things.” He explained.

Ari understood him now a little better. That made sense, it explained several things about him, how he acted in regard to touching her. She cast her eyes down to her feet nervously.

“Would you… want to know…” she asked gingerly, “about _such things_?” It was bold, and she thought that perhaps she shouldn’t have asked it. It made her heart beat a little quicker.

Lancelot’s eyes followed his face over to her direction, his heartbeat stuttering in his chest. _What exactly was she asking him?_

“I would not know what to do,” he responded tentatively. He felt vulnerable, like he was exposing some kind of weakness in himself.

Ari’s lips turned up at the corner, “Everyone says that, it’s not true,” she chuckled lightly, trying to be a little reassuring. Her eyes came over to his, “As long as it’s not with a _horse_ , you’d be fine.”

Ari chuckled quietly again through her nose and the sound prompted a similar but tired reaction from Lancelot, he appreciated the vote of confidence. _Does she know how beautiful she is when she laughs?_ His eyes cast away, feeling his heart clench under her gaze but he couldn’t help the pull on his lips at her joke.

Ari’s own lips widened at the sight of him breaking a smile, his softened features illuminated delicately by the fire between them. It was beautiful, she did not know why his God would command him to hide it from the world.

“You look younger when you smile,” she said abruptly, not realising that she had said it out loud, her brain once again forgetting to disconnect from her mouth. _Engage your mind, Ari_. Lancelot looked to her, his lips coming slowly to press together but the smile did not fade completely. She took a hasty breath in, looking back down to her feet.

“There will be plenty of people where we’re going. You never know what might happen if you smile like _that_ ,” she pointed up to him casually, “at one of them.” She felt herself flushing at the admission, hoping that he hadn’t seen through her words. How she was the fierce commander of the Fey she did not know, she couldn’t even gather the courage to tell Lancelot that she liked him that way, _you truly are a fool Arianne_.

Lancelot just stared at her, perplexed and starting to feel flustered in a way he wasn’t used to. He saw her take a breath and divert the conversation when Squirrel started to hop back towards them.

“There is a camp not far from here, we should be able to reach it by midday,” she said, picking up another piece of kindling and throwing it into the fire. Squirrel’s eyes lit up with the hope of not having to sleep out in the open for another night.

Lancelot had looked to the approaching child but his eyes drew slowly back towards Ari. He was sceptical about letting them walk into another Fey village, he didn’t think that it was worth the risk.

“You know it?” He asked.

“I do,” Ari nodded, “their leader was a friend of my father’s, they will welcome us.”

Lancelot tensed, _her father_ , the Sunborn had said that there was somewhere he had to be, perhaps it would be to see his old friend. His hands pressed together just a little tighter. He wondered where the older man was, what he was doing, why exactly he was no longer following them. Lancelot felt his face fall.

“They will welcome you both,” he said with a hint of irritation.

Ari watched Lancelot’s face. She had always been aware of how the Fey could possibly react to him, she had not forgotten who he had once been or what he had done. She looked him dead in the eye and leant in his direction.

“ _They will welcome us_ ,” she repeated strongly. Ari realised then just how much she would protect Lancelot with her life, just how far she would fight for them to give him a chance.

“Does this mean I can finally sleep in a tent? I am fed up with the snow,” Squirrel pulled Ari out of her growing frustration.

“I think so, yes,” she smiled over at the boy.

Squirrel thrust his fists into the air happily, flopping backwards and immediately regretting it as his back hit the cold, snow covered ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So they’re both finally realising that they like each other! For Ari it started as being attracted to him on the physical level and then it developed into caring about what was inside, whereas for Lancelot it has been the other way around. I wonder how long it will take for them to be on the same page... I wonder if they'll kiss when they do... o.O  
> The lyrics at the start are from a beautiful song called ‘A Little Something’ by Declan O’Rourke (I am obsessed). As a heads up, that song is a pretty good setup for the rest of this story and their relationship so…  
> Edit: ALSO I almost forgot, Joyous Gard is an actual piece of Arthurian legend, one of the suggested homes of Lancelot. In the real world its suspected to be Bamburgh Castle.


	22. close encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions run on high as the trio seek to rest in a nearby Fey camp. Lancelot tries his best to be there for Ari as her patience gets tested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW// threatening language.  
> This chapter is LONG (13k+) I apologise.  
> Comments are greatly appreciated :) x

[[Moodboard](https://captainbucky-yt.tumblr.com/post/644762192592371712/youre-not-what-i-was-looking-for-the-weeping)]

They were getting used to their evening routine and Lancelot found it strangely comfortable, how there was an order and structure to their nights. Lancelot would take first watch to make sure that Ari got enough rest and he would wake her as the moon started to drop and the first streams of daylight broke through the horizon. Their evening had been so calm and Ari felt like she had finally gotten through to Lancelot in some way with the way that he had smiled at her, but the night had quickly turned sour.

Ari just happened to turn by chance and saw red beads in the snow creeping slowly towards where Squirrel crouched retying his boot and preparing himself to sleep for the night. Her eyes flew wide open and her heart sank deep into her stomach.

“Squirrel!” She cried out desperately. His eyes shot up to her as his hands stopped moving, unbeknownst to what exactly was behind him. Everything happened so fast.

The beads chased forwards towards the boy with its great fangs bared and Ari panicked. She pulled her dagger out of her boot quicker than she ever had done before and she had almost let go, but she was too late, as the beast pounced through the air…or so she had thought.

 _Lancelot_.

Ari’s breath hitched at how she’d almost released the blade, how she’d almost killed him. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her dagger still held out in the air in her hand. She pulled herself and her adrenaline filled mind back together quickly, rushing over to Squirrel’s side as he scrambled on his hands backwards.

She didn’t know where he had come from or how he was in front of them now but Lancelot was there, and she was beyond thankful. His sword was unsheathed and held out low at his side, unbloodied and prepared to cut down the beast with ease as he put his body between it and the boy.

Ari grabbed Squirrel and pulled him into her, stumbling both of them back in the ground further towards the fire. She sheathed her dagger back into her boot as she shielded the child, protecting him with her body as he whimpered in her arms. Tears formed in both of their eyes as their hearts beat rapidly out of control.

Her head picked up to see the beast stood still before Lancelot, staring up at him as if he were its master. The thick white coat of the beast blended in with the surrounding snow while its ears were pulled back like bloodied daggers. If death were an animal then this would definitely be it. It looked like a wolf but it was much larger, eyes red like hell’s fire. Ari felt her heart beating out of her chest but the animal made no attempt to move, it just stood there staring at the man before it. Lancelot did not seem to move either and she could not see his face to know what he was thinking. Ari held the boy closer, wrapping her arms around him protectively.

The hood of Lancelot’s cloak bent forward and the beast stepped back, the darks of its eyes widening. Lancelot stepped forward to follow it as he raised his sword higher and the beast stepped back again, until it turned and ran back off into the forest. Ari took a breath and let all of the tension in her drop, including her hold on the boy.

“What just happened?” Squirrel asked with fear still evident in his voice, and for once Ari agreed.

“Lancelot?” she stood to her feet and came beside the stiffened man a little closer than necessary. He did not look to her, his hardened eyes fixed on the trail of the beast from beneath his hood. She moved her arm and her hand brushed against his sleeve, bringing him back from the edge that he was on. She was not calm on the inside, she was far from it. Anxious energy flooded through her veins and she fought to keep it under control.

Lancelot finally blinked and turned his face to her and was caught off guard by just how close she was. He didn’t have much of an answer to the boy’s question which he had ignored.

“I did not know that there were any left,” he said dryly. Noticing how Ari's hand was lingering still pressed on his arm, he breathed an actual breath finally and sheathed his sword back into place at his hip.

“Any what?” The boy asked as he came to the other side of Lancelot, his puzzled little face looking out through the darkness of the forest.

Lancelot didn’t know how but something in the deep depths at the back of his mind made him remember. He was off between the trees when he had sensed something suddenly in the air, something that was not Fey nor human. It sent a shiver down his spine and a burning beneath his tears. He ran back to them as fast as his feet would allow and rooted himself in the way without even questioning his action.

“Hounds of Arawn,” Lancelot answered, “they were gifted to the Ash folk for protection and to help them hunt. I never saw another after…” he trailed off, _the Burning Night,_ he did not have to say it for Ari to understand what he meant. He exhaled sharply and continued.

“Carden said they were the hounds of hell, and that it was his duty to extinguish them,” he paused, his expression showing his distaste for the matter, “ _my duty._ ” Just like with the first horse that he had tamed, Carden demanded the animals’ execution, yet Lancelot had never seen one since the Burning Night where he thought that they had all met their fate. He couldn’t understand how Carden had possibly let one slip through his fingers. If there was _one_ then perhaps there were more.

Ari felt the buzz through her system calming but it soon became replaced by something else. She watched Lancelot as he spoke, failing to understand how he is always so still and calm in these moments, but that’s not what was bothering her.

“Why are you not dead?” Squirrel asked bluntly as he turned to look at the man. The beast had pounced and was in the throws of attacking when Lancelot had stepped in. Squirrel didn’t understand what had happened, why the beast became so still with Lancelot’s presence.

Lancelot simply tensed and threw him a glance before he looked back to the trail of paw prints in the snow. _It must have recognised me as one of the Ash Fey_ , he guessed.

Ari’s mind flashed back to the Druid’s flames. She recognised the hounds that Lancelot was shown back then as the beast that had just been before them now.

“They were in Zurah’s flames, maybe it knew you are it’s kin,” Ari said with an unusual flatness, her hand now holding lightly around his arm.

Lancelot looked down to her, he had hoped to forget about the events of that particular night. He had no response, it seemed like the past would never leave him alone. He opened his mouth but swallowed whatever it was back down. Ari seemed calm on the outside but her eyes were hard on his, something was wrong.

“Squirrel go back to the fire,” Ari commanded.

“What?” He looked around Lancelot and up to her.

“Go,” her voice was strong, she didn’t even look at the boy. Lancelot knew for sure that something was out of place. He didn’t know what he had done wrong. Just an hour or two ago she was laughing and smiling and now _this_ , this he had not seen in a while.

“Okay...” Squirrel’s tone picked up and down with his scepticism but he retreated all the same. The queen was angry, and he didn’t particularly want to be Lancelot right now.

Lancelot furrowed his brow with Ari’s dismissal of the boy, it was not like her to speak to him that way. Then her hand tightened its grip around his arm and she dragged him off out of the small clearing and further into the trees. He didn’t know why, he usually wouldn’t have if it was anyone else, but he let her tug him away. They walked into the darkness just out of earshot from the boy when Ari pulled him to a standstill. She had already started seething her words at him before she had even fully turned back.

“What were you thinking?” Ari grit out through her teeth, fiery gold meeting blue as soon as she faced him fully. She dug her heels into the ground almost like she was prepared to fight not even a pace away from him. The firelight dimly illuminated one side of her face, half in shadow and half in light. _Is he an actual fool to put himself in the path of that hound?_

Lancelot’s face scrunched up in confusion. He had just saved the boy’s and her own life so why was she angry with him? Ari didn’t give him time to respond as her fingers dug further into his arm. It didn’t hurt and he wasn’t phased by it.

“I almost let go of my blade - I could have killed you!” Her voice was stiff and her words came out quickly. If she was frustrated with him before for risking his life to save her in the river then she was beyond frustrated now. She did not care if it was irrational or not because for once her words were not coming from her mind, _but her heart_ , no matter how harsh they seemed.

And now Lancelot understood why she was acting this way. The wind rustled high up in the branches of the trees. It was evident that the Fey queen was the one speaking now and not Ari, he pushed back with his own level of frustration as he shifted his weight forwards. He didn’t believe that she would have rather he did nothing and let the boy probably perish.

“The boy was in danger,” he rebuffed with a sternness to mimic her own.

“That does not mean put yourself in danger that is _my_ duty not _yours_ ,” her tone did not waver and nor did her grip. _It is my job to protect you._

The dent between Lancelot’s brows deepened, his usual stoic expression disappearing as he realised what she was not saying. Lancelot pushed her hand off of his arm with a growing frustration as his feet squared him up to Ari, moving closer as he looked down at her from beneath that hood.

“Protecting someone goes both ways,” he seethed back, recognising what she was trying to do. She was trying to protect him and he appreciated it, but these feelings, whatever they were for her would not let her get hurt again. He hadn’t intended them to but his eyes flicked down to her lips. There was a certain fire so alluring in her when she was mad, and just as he always had been, he was rather drawn to fire.

Ari ground her jaw at his stubbornness and gripped to where his cloak crossed over his chest, she pushed at him once as her fist closed, but he did not move. She could barely see his face except from where the fire reflected in his eyes. In the heat of the moment they had moved closer, practically stood toe to toe as Lancelot looked down at her. Ari was not a short woman and yet she still felt like he was towering above her.

“I could have killed you,” she repeated up into his face, her voice lowering to someplace more dangerous as she tugged perhaps too harshly on his cloak.

“I don’t care,” he shook his head, narrow weeping eyes never deviating from hers. His face came down close to hers when he spoke with his measured voice and he did not care for the lack of space between them either.

“Lance-” she ground down on his name with an annoyed bitterness but he interrupted her.

“I said I would not let you fall,” his tone softened unexpectedly as he lightly gripped onto her wrist between them and reminded her of his promise, his unspoken acknowledgement that he would keep her safe. He hoped that the heat of his palm through her leather binds might soothe her somewhat, bring her back down from wherever she had gone. He felt her knuckles pressing into him as she held him close to her but he did not mind. Her eyes burned up into his and he swore he could see fire spitting embers in the gold.

Lancelot’s steady breath was so close Ari felt it brush over her cheeks as her heart hammered away within her chest. Her lungs started to ache when her ears began to ring as she glared up at him, she had not breathed. All she had seen was a threat and _him_ in the way and it had sent her into a blind panicking mess. Her head shook and she blinked away as if she had only just now realised what she had done, how she had spoken to him. It was an overreaction and most definitely not like her, she didn’t know what was happening to her. Ari cursed in her mind and tried to back away, unclasping her white knuckled hand from the binds of his cloak across his chest. She felt the pressure of Lancelot’s hand around her wrist release as she put a distance between them.

“I’m sorry,” she said lowly, “that was uncalled for, I shouldn’t have-”

“You were scared,” Lancelot offered with a gentleness that was surprising for what had just happened. He had seen straight through her anger, it wasn’t because of him but at what could have happened. Her need to keep those around her safe was strong and Lancelot knew this, but he wouldn’t change what he had done, how he had put himself in the beast’s path. Silence hung tentatively in the air for a moment as he watched her move away from him, her face turned down towards her feet, her hands balling at her sides. He wasn’t mad at her for grabbing his cloak like that or even for pushing him, he barely felt it, and he understood why she did it. He saw her take in an uneven breath.

“I just-” Ari stopped herself. It was right on the tip of her tongue, _I don’t want to lose you_. She sighed heavily instead, recoiling into herself and hoping that he might understand her like a druid sorcerer who could read minds. She felt bad for pushing him, it didn’t matter that he didn’t move or fall because she’d still done it. The lump rose in her throat and it made her feel sick to her stomach, she couldn’t tell the difference between her and that hound right then.

Lancelot silently let out a sigh. He didn’t want to assume in his own thoughts of what she might have been trying to say but he had some kind of idea, he didn’t want to lose her either. He felt something so strong stir within him, a pull so tight towards her that he couldn’t ignore it. He had feelings for her, he knew that now, and not just as a friend. Ari lifted her face and offered him a weak smile which faded away.

“Come on,” he said quietly, tilting his hooded head back towards the campfire. He wouldn’t push her to say what was on her mind, she would tell him when she was ready.

Lancelot refused to sleep that night, insisting that he remained awake, should the hound return. They set a few more campfires and marked out a space where Ari and Squirrel slept in the middle with Lancelot behind to keep watch over them. The night went on at a painfully slow pace, he did not take his eyes off of the trees as the moon dragged across the pitch sky. Ari woke herself up and switched places with him an hour or two after midnight, refusing to let him stay awake for the whole time. Come dawn, each of them were safe and the hound had not returned.

~•~

The morning light broke through the clouds and Squirrel was the last to wake, as usual. Ari felt odd today, and not in a good way. She knew that Lancelot had noticed already, for the strange connection between him and her meant that she could read even the slightest of changes in how he was looking at her, when he actually _was_ looking at her and not on the paw print trail heading away through the trees. The concerned looks and pinched brows that he was sending her way would only last for so long before he broke and asked her what was wrong. She knew what it was and she didn’t exactly want to tell him, he wouldn’t understand, and she really didn’t want to have to face the turmoil of having to explain it to him either.

She could see Lancelot shifting his attention back towards the direction of the hound’s tracks over and over as they milled about preparing to leave their camp. He was stood on the other side of Goliath, watching out between his ears and barely focussing on getting the horse ready.

“Lancelot?” She tried to get his attention from the side of her own horse but he was not listening. She huffed quietly and called his name again but he ignored her once more. _What has gotten into him?_

“Lancelot!” She called for one last time and stepped over and around Goliath to block his view. It was a little pointless for he could see right over her but she needed his attention. He acknowledged her presence but only with his voice as his eyes remained fixed out on the distance.

“It’s scent... it is still here,” he said with a bitter quietness as she stood before him, his lip quirking upwards like it did when he was frustrated. He didn’t like that he could still sense the hound, it was unnerving him more than it should. His self-made obligation to protect them had crept up in the night and he now understood how Ari must have felt when they had their tense little moment the evening before.

Ari pinpointed then the reason why he was being so distant in his attention. She thought that if his eyes got any harder and his body got any stiffer then he would perhaps for sure turn to stone.

“Hey,” she said after a moment and snapped her fingers lightly before his face. The action seemed to work as his narrow eyes shifted down at her instead.

Lancelot watched her face when she spoke, she looked pale this morning but he had not said anything.

“I know that you want to protect us,” Ari said calmly, “but whatever that thing was is long gone, okay? It would not attack in daylight anyway.” She tried to pacify him, he was getting too caught up in what had happened and he needed to let it go so that they could move on.

He looked down to her with a gentle sigh, she was right. He nodded, diverting his attention to what he was actually supposed to be doing and made sure Goliath’s saddle was secure.

Ari nodded back at him, glad that she had his focus again and moved around to her own horse. Squirrel came back from doing his business and immediately went to Ari and Dusty.

“Ride with Lancelot, please,” she said to Squirrel as he came to her side. It would be easier if he did, a sly tactic but it would make the grey cloaked man appear as less of a threat to the Fey in the camp. Squirrel went to protest but Ari gave him a look before he could even open his mouth.

Lancelot watched Ari as her hands double checked her saddle. Her eyes seemed a little hazy and she just looked tired. Squirrel appeared in the corner of his eye and he handed the boy Goliath’s reins before taking a chance. He rounded past his horse to Dusty’s side, stood by her shoulder and leant towards her carefully, head tilting to one side in some kind of sympathy.

“You do not look well,” he said quietly to hide his voice from Squirrel’s prying ears. Lancelot didn’t make an attempt to sugar coat his words because he knew that she wouldn’t appreciate it. Whatever it was he wanted to know, he wanted to help.

“I am fine,” Ari looked up to him softly, at those ever blue weeping eyes of his. She felt a flutter in her stomach with the way that he was looking at her. He was always so careful now, even when they had argued or crossed swords by the river, he was gentle with her. She didn’t quite know how to feel about it, she normally hated when people coddled her as it was usually just to get on her good side, but with Lancelot it felt different, it felt like he actually cared. That familiar pull of her heartstrings came back again.

“I just have an ache in my head from the cold, that is all,” she lied with a gentle fake smile, “I will feel better after we rest at the camp.” Her eyes shifted back to her horse.

Lancelot didn’t quite believe her, but he pursed his lips and nodded to her anyway.

They rode out about an hour after dawn, moving more quickly than they had been doing previously since Ari now had her strength back. The sky was bright and the forest around them was silent except for the gentle trickling of water running between the trees.

Ari dismounted and led Dusty to the stream, allowing him to bow his head down to the water. Ari had ridden on ahead a little to make sure they were going in the right direction. She didn’t go too far into the distance and made sure that they could still see each other when she turned her head over her shoulder to glance back. She left Dusty by the water and stepped away to unbind her hand and place her palm into the dirt. She thought that she knew where she was taking them but it had been a couple of years since she was last at this camp, she wanted to be sure.

“What is she doing?” Squirrel whispered back to Lancelot as the two of them and Goliath caught up.

“Finding the Fey,” Lancelot responded. He halted Goliath over near to the stream and helped Squirrel down before dismounting as well. Squirrel lead Goliath to the stream and Lancelot came round to Ari. He trusted her powers but somehow she looked like she was struggling, mumbling things to herself that he couldn’t decipher.

The pestering ache in Ari’s body grew when she bent to the ground and she could not focus. She hadn’t heard Lancelot appear beside her though she wasn’t surprised, the man was silent in more ways than one.

“Let me find them, Ari?” he asked her softly, noting that whatever ache she had said was in her in the morning was still present. She did not move, she did not react to him and Lancelot thought that perhaps she hadn’t heard him. He placed his hand lightly on her shoulder to get her attention.

Ari sighed after a moment and dropped the tension in her body, “Okay.” She got back up onto her feet and felt his hand slip away, she would not say it but she missed it practically immediately. She turned to face him and her gold met onto blue straight away. Ari rubbed her hand slightly across her forehead before lowering it to wind the leather back around her palm.

“I know that they are south and a little west from here, that should help you,” she said, looking up and nodding her permission briefly for him to use his senses in this way.

Lancelot nodded in return and stepped away to create some space for her scent was currently all that he was holding onto. Ari moved back over to Dusty and ran her hand soothingly down his neck.

Lancelot’s eyes scanned through the trees but it was not his sight that he was following. He hated the fact that his senses often just made him feel like an animal, a beast tracking its prey like the Ash hound from the night before. He was good at tracking even without his senses, he had not found it difficult to learn how to read signs in the landscape. But with his powers, his ability was unparalleled. He did not know how to describe it, following scent was like being able to see trails in the air though they were not present in his vision. He doesn’t understand _how_ but he just knows what to follow, what direction to move to find the Fey. He walked past a bush and picked a leaf off absentmindedly, running it through between his fingers. He walked a little further and then caught something in the air, _Fey kind_. His hand came from under his cloak briefly and pointed out to the west.

“That way,” he called back to them. He turned on his heel and walked back to where Ari and Squirrel were waiting, dropping the leaf as he went.

“Perhaps four leagues. I will know better when we get closer,” he explained as he came past Ari towards his horse.

“Okay, let’s go.”

~•~

The Fey scouts all had their weapons pointed, swords, spears, bows, axes. It was without question who their metals were aimed more towards, but Lancelot just sat tall in Goliath’s saddle and put his trust in Ari beside him.

Ari lifted her hand and pulled her hood down slowly, adding a little dramatic flare to the situation. A few of the Fey recognised her and started to lower their weapons. Ari spoke up, addressing them all as they circled around her, Lancelot and Squirrel.

“Tell your leader that your queen is here.”

~

This was the third time in a little over a moon that Lancelot had ridden into a Fey settlement, but this time he was even more nervous than before, for his eyes were now open to the possibility of what could happen. The leader of the last Fey village had betrayed them, he would not allow the same to happen again, but Ari had said that she knew these people so he trusted her judgement. He anticipated the oncoming onslaught of ill-tempered insults that were going to inevitably come his way. _Wood violet and leather,_ he held onto it, he held onto her scent to keep his composure. Being surrounded by Fey was overwhelming, he would have to find some way to get used to it when Ari was not nearby to be his anchor, to ignore their scents that sat heavily in his senses. His body tensed in the saddle as more guards came forward when they rode out from the denser trees and into the heart of the camp. One ran away through the clearing, presumably to alert someone that they had company.

They walked further into the clearing surrounded by tents and huts, Ari sitting tall and proud on her golden horse. She reminded Lancelot of the first time that he had seen her, she had ridden into her own camp that day with the same level of determination and a similar look on her face as she was doing now. The only thing missing was the blood and unfortunate buck across Dusty’s rump.

It did not take long for a crowd to gather around them. Those who recognised Ari began to bow, something which she didn’t deem necessary from her own people, but this was not her camp. Technically, she held the authority here over their clan leader, but out of respect, she would not dismiss him. She rode in front of Lancelot and Squirrel, forging a path straight for the centre of the clearing. It was obvious when the Fey recognised the monk who was riding behind her, _the afterthought_. Some cried out and many shouted, most gripped onto each other tightly. Some told their children to hide and others stepped forwards with weapons at the ready.

“Queen Ari! Welcome!” Their leader, _Rea_ , shouted his greeting as he walked towards them with open arms. Rea was a short, stout Fey whose appearance could easily pass for that of a contempt human Lord. He was older than Ari, perhaps around the age that her father would be about now if not a little older.

“Born in the-” he began to say with a smile until he noticed Lancelot. Rea suddenly ignored his queen's presence and pointed quickly between his swordsmen and Lancelot.

“Take him!” He ordered as he stopped in his tracks. The Guards started to move eagerly, drawing out their weapons but Lancelot held himself still, his face showing nothing, unlike Squirrel who started fidgeting in the saddle before him.

“Nobody is to harm the man or the child,” Ari raised her voice above the crowd, and Rea’s warriors slowed in their tracks. Lancelot had almost forgotten the way in which she could command the Fey, and he had not expected them this far south to be so receptive to her.

“Your highness, he is a murderer to our kind!” Rea protested loudly, his hand up and outstretched as it pointed at the _murderer_.

“Oi shut up,” Squirrel shouted a little too bravely and it earned a glare from Ari and a discrete nudge from Lancelot. He didn’t care, he wasn’t going to let his friend be spoken about like that.

Lancelot bit down on his jaw but didn’t let it show how the stout man’s words had phased him. _A murderer to our kind,_ that’s not who he was, not anymore.

Ari did not flinch, she had not forgotten, but the man’s choice of words tested her patience. She resisted the urge to run her hand over the hilt of her sword.

The gathering Fey echoed their leader’s words, chanting _murderer_ and _the weeping monk_ between themselves and the sound crawled under Lancelot’s skin. He focussed on her scent in his senses, anchoring himself to keep his temper at bay.

Ari raised her hand and silenced them, her eyes fixed on the stout Fey.

“Nobody,” she repeated loudly so that all could hear her, “will harm him.” After the last Fey camp that they visited she was taking no chances, but she knew these Fey well enough though this time to not doubt their loyalty.

Lancelot’s heart clenched at her protectiveness, feeling it twist something deep inside him that was not unpleasant. He recognised in that moment that perhaps Ari had the same want to protect him as he did her. Perhaps that’s what she had wanted to say the night before, when she cut herself off and retreated from him. He watched the eyes of the people he could see as they scowled at him, clearly unhappy with what Ari had commanded.

The stout Fey moved with purpose and came to stand at Ari’s horse’s head. Lancelot’s own face picked up higher beneath the hood as he glared at the man. He did not like the way that he had approached her with his overly determined stride, his stare still throwing icy daggers in his own direction. Lancelot could tell that the man was seething and the old him rather enjoyed knowing it.

“It is a murderer,” he gritted to Ari in the high Fey tongue, keeping his voice measured as his dark eyes glanced between her and Lancelot.

“I am aware,” she seethed in response using the same tongue as she leant forwards slightly over Dusty’s shoulder towards him. Lancelot couldn’t change his past but that isn’t who he was anymore. She realised that she had basically agreed with what the man had said and pushed the thought aside.

Lancelot watched how her demeanour changed from just yesterday or even hours ago. She was formidable now and almost frightening, like she had been on the day that they had met. He did not understand the exchange happening before him but he could take a decent guess at what was being said. Ari reverted back to the common tongue so that those who were close enough could understand.

“You doubt me, Rea?” She cocked her head at him, her words were almost a threat as they established her dominance over him in that moment. The Fey’s eyes moved around, looking Ari up and down on her horse and then across to the former monk, and back to her. Lancelot had heard what she had said then, it felt strange, usually he was the menacing one that kept people at bay. He did not like the way that the stout Fey’s eyes dragged over Ari and he felt his scowl deepen in response.

“No, your grace,” Rea conceded, though his tone didn’t suggest that his words could be trusted. He bowed his head and stepped back from her horse’s side.

Ari puffed out her chest and addressed the crowd as she sat back upright, “I understand your concerns and we may speak of them later. This man has my protection and for now, nothing more needs to be said.” She looked back down at their leader, lowering her voice, “We are heading south, a place to rest for tonight from the snow would be appreciated. We will continue on in the morning.”

They dismounted the horses and handed their reins over to a couple of young Fey who led them away. The air was tense and so was the company. The camp was larger than several that Lancelot had seen before now, perhaps the same size as Ari’s had been, made up of likely a hundred adult Fey plus the elderly and children. From what he could see it was mainly Sky folk here, with a few from several other clans dotted in between. He couldn’t help but wonder how long they had been here in this forest. He knew how quickly camps moved around because of him and his brothers, and before all hell had broken loose they had begun to sweep their way south through the vast land once more. He bit down, it seems he could never truly escape who he had once been.

Lancelot stood quietly whilst Ari talked with her people. He had felt a shift in her, a hardening of sorts around the others. He had seen how she acted around her own people, with those that were in her camp, and this was not it. It was almost like she was keeping her guard up. He thought that perhaps she had lost some trust in them since they were betrayed, he wasn’t surprised, he didn’t exactly trust them either, or maybe it was something else? He kept his eyes down most of the time as the Fey around them gave him more space than necessary. He wouldn’t hurt them, he wasn’t even looking at them, but yet he still felt like hiding himself away beneath his hood. He had closed his eyes for a brief second and when he opened them, Squirrel was bent before him, his head twisting on his neck as he craned it to look up at his face under the hood with an inquisitive brow. Lancelot cocked an eyebrow at him, _what are you doing?_

“You can’t hide under there forever you know,” Squirrel stated lightly, his hands clasped behind his back and it made him smile just a little.

“It is easier this way,” he responded. He was saving the people from having to look at his weeping face. Squirrel stood himself up straighter and shuffled around. Lancelot lifted his head slightly to follow the boy.

“Ah pfft, for them or for you?” The child remarked as he twisted on his heel, bored with all of the waiting around. Lancelot just watched him with a furrowed brow. Squirrel eventually turned back and caught his expression, moving back to stand closer.

“Perhaps they won’t be so scared of you if you weren’t just a shadow and _actually_ showed them that you’re Fey?” The boy sounded almost exasperated but there was something playful in the way that he spoke, as always.

Lancelot sighed quietly at the boy’s remark, _he’s right._ His face had always been hidden from the world, his hood isolated him from being recognised as anything other than a weapon. He remembers how the trinity guard drew back his hood as he knelt to the ground, exposing the man behind the monster. And in that moment he felt the shift, _the Weeping Monk_ died and _Lancelot_ was reborn. So perhaps yes, the boy was right, he needed to show them who he was. He picked his hands up from where they were clasped together in front of him and placed his fingers at the rim of the dark fabric framing his face. His head was still bowed but he slowly picked up the overlarge hood and set it back onto his shoulders, revealing his face to the world.

Squirrel smiled up at him and Lancelot dared to look away, to bring his eyes to the faces of those around him. He tried to show something gentler on his face other than his usual impassiveness as he swivelled his head slowly and looked around between the tents and trees. Many Fey dared to meet his eyes but he did not hold them for long, whereas most simply turned their faces away in disgust. It hurt, being looked at with such repulsion. He had never let it bother him before but he had changed, Squirrel and Ari had changed him into a man who actually had a heart now that could bleed. Perhaps they had not expected the face of the monster to look so... human?

~

“Lancelot?” He picked his head up at her voice and his blue met onto gold. She was stood several paces away, arms crossed and cocked her head at him, gesturing for them to follow. He thought that she still looked a little tired, and perhaps she just was. This journey wasn’t the longest that he had ever had, nor the most eventful if he was honest, but even he was starting to feel the dull aches settle in his bones. Squirrel didn’t seem to mind much, he was young and full of energy. At least they were safe and sheltered within a camp for now.

Rea led them out through the camp, between the trees across the uneven ground and towards one of the many groups of tents, Ari by his side. He eyed the almost faded bruise across Ari’s cheek with caution and threw an icy glance over his shoulder at Lancelot before turning back to the dirt path.

Lancelot caught the man looking at him that way, he hadn’t taken his eyes off of him since they had walked out of the clearing. It was something in the way that he spoke, not just to him but to Ari, his queen. He did not trust him.

“Perhaps you should have your own tent, your grace,” Rea said lowly for only her to hear.

“You are concerned for how I sleep?” She quirked a brow, not really caring for the man’s concerns, she was perfectly fine sharing a tent.

“For your propriety,” he rebuked. He had seen how the murderer looked at her, he knew the intentions running through the weeping monk’s dangerous mind.

Ari looked to him pointedly. They had been sleeping next to one another for days, _weeks_ even, closer than they would be doing this night. She had not thought of how it might appear to others but to her it was normal, sleeping near Lancelot was just how things worked between them and she had never felt unsafe with him close by. And besides from that, her _propriety_ as he put it was none of Rea’s concern.

“My propriety is under no threat I assure you,” she told him sharply with a bitter taste on her tongue as they continued walking. And anyway, the particular thing that Rea was not so discretely speaking of was lost to her long ago.

“Your grace-” Rea huffed. 

“Rea,” Ari stopped him and her feet. She schooled her voice as he turned to her, an incredulous look across his face. “We have travelled for weeks, we are tired. Your resources are spread thinly, I am capable of sharing their tent. No harm will come to me,” she reeled off sternly, too tired for an argument with him. She is safe with Lancelot and the boy and she trusts them more than the company that was before her in that moment.

Squirrel and Lancelot had stopped walking in their wake. The boy didn’t understand but it was clear that the latter of the two had heard what had been said between them, for the scowl on his face was aimed in the stout Fey’s direction. He would never harm her, much less do what he had been insinuating without her permission. Even then he didn’t know if he would do _that_ particular thing anyway. He’d find out one day, _maybe_ , but not tonight.

Rea glanced back at the man in question and turned to lean further towards Ari.

“Do not let him wander around here freely,” he said to her beneath his breath, a threat. Ari’s face turned sharply, hardening further at his words.

“I will not control him, he is not an animal,” she did not even bother hiding her displeasure in her tone as she snapped at him. Lancelot was not the problem here, _he_ was. Her hand skirted over the hilt of her sword as she stared straight at Rea who seemed to have nothing else to say. She raised her eyebrows at him, urging him to please continue with what he was saying.

“I’d listen to your queen if I were you,” Squirrel shouted out, snickering to himself quietly afterwards.

Lancelot smirked at the boy’s boldness but it soon fell away. He noticed the tension between Ari and the Fey leader, there was something that he was missing. Ari would not just snap at the man for no reason, he knew her better than that, he knew how she tamed herself and schooled her tongue. The man was just standing there with his hands tensed at his sides but Lancelot could see the bitterness seething through him as he ground his jaw. Then he cocked his head and began walking again.

Ari glanced back to Lancelot and the boy and noted the gentle smirks on both of their faces. She didn’t like having to intimidate people to get them to be quiet but Rea was not playing fair, Lancelot was no animal and she would not tell him where he could or could not go.

Rea left them alone after directing them towards a fairly large tent with three cots. Squirrel led them as they stepped inside and immediately jumped on the middle bed, claiming it as his own. He sighed heavily with relief as he threw himself down and let his body melt into the cot.

Ari chuckled to herself at the boy softly, and if she weren’t as guarded in that moment she might have done the same. The ache in her body had subsided and she was glad to at least have somewhere warm and dry to sleep this time. She moved over to the third cot and tossed her saddlebag down.

Lancelot stepped in after them. He had pulled his hood back up as soon as they had left the clearing and it felt almost like relief, the hood was the one place where he felt most comfortable. It was strange, he knows it, but he couldn’t help it. Besides Ari and Squirrel he had few comforts in this world and he wasn’t quite ready to let this one go just yet. Now that they had at least some privacy the questions started forming in his mind. Ari seemed to believe that they would be okay here but from the way Rea was acting, he wasn’t too sure. He had a bad feeling in the last Fey village they travelled through and he had said nothing, and Ari almost died because of it. He was not going to say nothing this time.

Ari turned around and she could see the look on Lancelot’s face, he was wanting to say something but he was holding himself back. She glanced to the boy on the bed.

“Squirrel will you make sure that the horses are seen to, please?” She asked lightly.

“You could just say that you want to talk _alone_ ,” he smirked at her from where he was laying and she deadpanned back at him. He was slightly annoyed, he was just getting comfortable and he didn’t want to go back out into the cold of the winter afternoon.

Ari huffed at his insolence, “Fine, may we talk _alone_ , please?” She gave in to the boy’s teasing ways with a smile.

“Yes, you may,” Squirrel pouted in defiance as he shuffled off of the cot onto his feet. He turned on his heels with his hands clasped behind his back and sauntered out of the tent. Ari grinned at the boy’s exiting figure and rolled her eyes.

“ _He_ is going to be trouble when he is older,” she smiled as she shook her head lazily.

Lancelot found a smile also tugged at his lips but it disappeared as he stepped towards her. His head tilted down inquisitively as he hushed his voice from the ears that he knew were hanging around.

“How do you know that what happened after the last Fey camp will not repeat itself?” He asked. After what had happened, how she had almost died because of their betrayal, how could he not be concerned?

Ari sighed, keeping her voice low as she started to take some of her things out of her saddlebag on the cot. “Rea is a pig headed bastard, but he is loyal to the Fey through and through. He wants the Paladins gone just as much as any of us, he would not aid them.” She dropped her water skin down onto the thick blanket covering the bed. 

“And his people, what about them?” Lancelot asked, leaning in closer. The low rasp in his voice reverberated through the air and sent a shiver down Ari’s spine that she was getting more accustomed to when it came to him.

“Rea knows everything that goes on in this camp, they would not act without his say so.” Ari noted his silence and looked up to him, realising just how close he had stood beside her.

“You will be safe here,” Ari promised. She reached out and brushed her hand down his sleeve briefly with a gentle smile for emphasis. Lancelot gave her a shallow nod and the briefest of sighs in acknowledgement but he didn’t look like he believed her. He stepped aside to put his own bag down on the only unclaimed cot. He looked down and started to undo the bag and Ari returned back to hers. 

“You seem to know him well,” he stated after a moment but it came across more as a question of _why?_

Ari bit down on her lip as she considered telling him the truth. “Benni was his nephew,” she said shyly after a few moments.

Lancelot paused his hands which were undoing his saddlebag, now recognising the true reason for her quick to form tension with the man. She had blamed herself for Benni’s death and perhaps Rea did too, he would not put it past the man to think such a thing. Lancelot stepped back carefully towards her side, remembering how upset she had been the last time they had spoken of her almost husband. Ari looked up quickly to him for a second at his return but her eyes soon fell away. He could see her anxiousness start to grow as she swallowed down her emotion, noting her fingers shaking ever so slightly.

“He blames me for his death,” Ari said quietly before she turned from him. Lancelot caught her wrist gently and brought her back towards him. He would not let her get lost in her grief again, not if he could help her.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he said lowly. She was not quite facing him fully but she was not pulling away either.

Ari’s mouth pursed, tears shimmering in her downcast eyes as her breathing started to become heavier. _He was not there,_ Lancelot didn’t know just how much _her fault_ it actually was. She had told him what had happened that day and he had seemed to understand, but he could never _truly_ understand.

“I failed,” she said, voice breaking as she tried to hold everything in.

“No, you didn’t.” Lancelot shook his head, stepping closer as his fingers relaxed around her wrist but still held onto her. His voice lowered gently, trying to emulate her soothing tones she had so often used to comfort him, “ _You cannot bring back what is already lost_ , you said so yourself.”

Ari cast her eyes further away, the memory of her hands pressed to Benni’s chest sprung a painful feeling within her own. _I couldn’t bring him back because I wasn’t strong enough._ She felt the warmth from his hand and tried to focus on it.

Lancelot felt like he was on a slippery slope, not knowing where to put his feet to get a steady footing. She looked like her mind was reeling, trying not to break. He recognised it, he’d seen it in her before. Something pulled at his chest and told him to comfort her, to _try_.

“When I pulled you from the river,” he began, “I thought we’d lost you,” he sighed, watching her face turn back so slowly. “I thought that I’d,” he paused for a brief moment, second guessing wether he should echo her phrasing or not, “ _failed you._ ”

“You saved my life, Lancelot,” she reminded him calmly, her watery eyes finally lifting to his. He hadn’t failed, not at all, he had saved her.

“I know, but I almost didn’t,” his fingers tightened again around where they had fallen from her wrist to her hand. The last time they had spoken of this she had kissed his knuckles so delicately, the feeling of her lips pressed to his skin was still there.

“I didn’t know what to do, I panicked,” he admitted, opening himself up to his vulnerability. “I saw you go over the edge and I-” he stopped himself, a little breathless as a sorrowful pain washed over his face. His jaw wavered as his eyes darted between hers, not knowing how to finish what he had started. She turned a little more towards him, her face shifting into something else as her own eyes burned trails over his skin.

Lancelot didn’t quite understand where he was trying to get to with his words. He was learning how to provide physical comfort such as his hand on hers now, but learning how to choose the _right_ words for the _right_ intention was something else entirely. A single tear broke at the corner of her reddening eye. He wanted to do something, _something bold_ as she had done for him, so he took a chance.

His thumb brushed slowly away at the tear rolling down her face and Ari did not pull away from him. His beating heart sighed with relief that she had accepted his touch, her watery golden eyes looking up at him like he was something other than the monster the Fey spoke of.

Ari’s breath caught when his thumb touched her cheek softly. She had not expected it, and her heart felt like it had both stopped and chased itself out of her chest simultaneously. A heat spread across her skin where he was tracing the path of her tear with a featherlight touch, his eyes following the movement. It was like a breath of fresh air in this rolling storm. How was she supposed to react? She had never actually been touched this way, and Lancelot was making her heart ache. She saw his lips part and he inhaled quietly.

“We all make mistakes,” he whispered, his silvered voice hanging over her like a blanket of warmth. Oh how much he wanted to just reach out further and wrap her in himself, but he wouldn’t, not yet. Ari just stared up into his eyes, boring holes so deep that he felt like everything was just going to flood out, all of his emotions, all of his feelings for her that he was still configuring in his mind.

Ari realised just how close they were getting to something she couldn’t help but want. She drowned in his crystal eyes as she watched his follow the path of his thumb across her skin. He had slowly become the moon to her sun and he was beginning to balance her out so evenly, washing away her pain with the perfect storm in his eyes. The warmth of his breath ran down her face and she recognised how close he was to her. She sniffled and pulled back the rest of her tears. She still had things to do and people to deal with, she couldn’t be losing herself in him and her grief right now no matter how much she wanted to.

Ari started to step back from him so Lancelot dropped his hand away from her face and his other from where it still cupped her hand, scared that he had done too much. He stood there quietly whilst his heart raced as he waited for her to say something.

“Yeah,” she sighed, “I know.” Her still watery eyes cast away down to her cot and Lancelot reluctantly let her go. Had he said something wrong? Had he been too forward? She looked back up to him, smiling weakly as she pulled a small purse out of her saddlebag.

“I’ll be back soon, okay?” She said, eyes glancing across his face as she pulled herself back together.

Lancelot nodded shallowly and stepped to the side out of her way. He did not turn as she left, for once not watching her as she walked away from him. He dropped his shoulders and sighed, his fingers pushing through the growing stubble across his jaw. _I don’t know how to do this,_ he thought.

~•~

Ari stepped out and walked around the camp, finding whatever she was able to get that they needed. Some food and a cloak were her priorities, it didn’t look right to have their queen walking around with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. A new shirt as well, _preferably_ , wearing one of the Paladins’ shirts had made her feel dirty and she was glad to be rid of it.

She noticed Squirrel wandering around as well and remembered how she had asked him to leave them. She called him over and smiled as he trotted childishly.

“Do you reckon you could find us something to eat with that nose of yours?” Ari asked as she poked him on said nose. He recoiled away from her with a look of mild disgust which only made her laugh. She watched as he waddled off and something stirred in her. She didn’t quite know how she was going to be able to part with him after they returned him, she hadn’t thought about what would come within the next few days. She hadn’t intended to get so close to either of them, especially Lancelot yet, here she was.

After a little while of wandering and ignoring some of the glares that she was getting she found one of the camps seamstresses, a middle aged Sky woman with jet black hair hanging low below her waist. There were several shirts available and she just picked whatever looked might fit. She settled for a dark forest green one with long sleeves and dark cords down the sternum. Ari asked the Fey if she had any cloaks and after a moment she brought out a few. Ari picked one up, it was not the best of them nor the fanciest but Ari liked it the most. She thanked the woman and handed over the coin.

“Your grace, this is too much. I cannot accept it,” the seamstress protested, trying to hand it back. Ari placed her hand over the woman’s to stop her, it was not necessary.

“Please,” she said kindly, “I will pay what is right for good work.”

The woman smiled gently at her and sighed, “Thank you your Grace.”

“Please, call me Ari,” she smiled back.

Ari had gathered what she needed and started to walk back towards their tent, her eyes examining the new mottled blue and black felted cloak in her hands. It reminded her of Lancelot, perhaps that is why she had picked it. The weaving of blue and black together matched the perfect storm that she loved to look into so much, the storm that sent a shiver down her spine and a gentle smile to her face.

“Ari?” Her head spun at the quiet, feminine intonation that had called her name and broken her trance. Her eyes set upon a woman she recognised.

“Lilia,” she breathed, walking over towards the woman.

“Born in the dawn,” Lilia, a small, thin Sky woman with hair as yellow and bright as the sun greeted with a smile as she stepped forward.

“To pass in the twilight,” Ari returned the greeting happily. She had not seen Lilia in years, not since the ritual that was held for Benni after he had passed.

“It is good to see you,” the blonde was genuinely pleased as she stopped a pace away from Ari. The pair knew each other, or at least they used to. Their fathers, Rea and the old king, had been friends and so they somewhat grew up together. They were fairly close for a long time, until Ari became queen of the Fey and her world changed. She drifted away from certain friendships that she had held and focussed on those who she knew would not falter in their loyalty.

“And you,” Ari returned, “it has been a long time,” she pondered.

The blonde nodded in agraeance, a slight saddened look across her face as her lips pursed. Ari didn’t know what she was supposed to say, she felt a tension between the pair of them and she couldn’t place a finger on _why_ , though she had a vague idea. Ari snapped herself about of whatever trance she was in.

“I heard you had a daughter,” she said.

The blonde finally smiled again, “Yes, she is three summers now... and soon to be joined by another,” she finished her sentence a little quietly and ran a hand discreetly over the gentle swell below her stomach. Ari’s eyes widened for a moment and she felt something pull in her chest as she looked to Lilia’s hand. Perhaps it was just happiness for the woman or maybe it was sadness for herself.

“Congratulations,” Ari hushed with a smile, suspecting that there were few who knew of Lilia’s news for now. The blonde just smiled back for a moment but then her face fell. She hesitantly stepped closer and inhaled sharply.

“Why are you here with the weeping monk?” Her voice was low but Ari heard the venom behind her words. Ari pushed away the need to just scoff and roll her eyes, to ignore the question and walk away. Her jaw tensed and the feeling of familiarity between them seemed to dissipate away like water through a crack.

“We are returning the boy we rode in with to his people in the South,” she explained. 

“ _We?_ ” Lilia’s brows lifted suspiciously. Ari bit down the urge to walk away again. She knew how it appeared, how the Fey queen travelling with the Fey murderer looked to anybody that wasn’t her, Lancelot or Squirrel, to anybody who didn’t know what they had been through together. Ari cut to the chase and was eager to dismiss the conversation for now.

“His name is Lancelot,” Ari said firmly, “and he is as much a victim of this war as we are.”

The blonde woman blinked back, practically disgusted at what her old friend was telling her.

“A victim?” Lilia spat in disbelief, “He created the victims.”

Ari kept her eyes trained on the woman’s, feeling the tension rise within her veins. Her tone shifted to something more stern.

“He had no choice, it was either _conform_ , or death. He suffered enough at the Paladin hands,” she nodded sharply and started to turn away. Her feelings for him, whatever they were, were making her more defensive than would seem rational and she knew it.

“So that’s why you’re protecting him? Because you feel sorry for him?” Lilia’s voice stopped her. Ari blinked back but the woman continued to push on, just like her father. “You always were one for the wayward strays.” Ari bit down on her lip and turned back.

“He saved my life,” Ari pushed harshly, thoroughly fed up now. She absentmindedly stepped closer to which the blonde retreated away, feeling small under the heat of Ari’s eyes as she stood over her.

Ari’s tone dropped as she continued, “It will serve you well to remember who you are talking to,” she warned, “my word is final.” That wasn’t entirely true, she would always listen to her people, but right now she was in no mood for this conversation.

Lilia’s head retreated back into her shoulders as she broke her eyes away from Ari’s imposing stare. “You really have changed,” she said quietly before turning and leaving her queen.

Ari felt her heart sink. If she couldn’t even make her _friend_ understand, not even a little, then how was she supposed to convince a whole kingdom of Fey that Lancelot was not _the Weeping Monk_ any longer? Her mouth pushed to one side as she pursed her lips and sighed, turning back one more time towards their tent. She hoped that she would not have another encounter along the way but then Squirrel caught her eye. She pushed away her thoughts and smiled at him as he approached.

“Who was that?” Squirrel asked her as he escorted her back to their tent, a couple of bowls, a flask and a wrap of what looked like bread held within his arms.

“An old friend,” Ari huffed, she didn’t know for how long he had been watching her speak to Lilia.

“She didn’t look like a friend,” Squirrel turned his body back in the direction of where the blonde woman had been stood with Ari.

“People change Squirrel,” was the only explanation Ari offered up in response. “Come on, Lancelot is waiting.” She pat him on the head and turned the boy back around before he fell over himself and dropped all of the food.

Lancelot was stood outside of their allocated tent with his hands clasped and two Fey guards watching him. Ari went to speak but then she noticed an older Fey woman milling about inside the tent, putting up a dark cloth division between the cots.

Lancelot felt Ari’s presence and turned his eyes to her, offering a silently annoyed look at the unnecessary measures being put in place.

Ari just pursed her lips with a slight frown and shook her head briefly, asking him to let it go.

~•~

“Ari” a voice came from the entrance of their tent. She turned from where she was sat, it was Rea. “Can we have a word?” He was being more civil than he had been before and it was a little unnerving. The moonlight from up above was starting to break through the cracks in the tent as the evening started to draw in.

“Whatever you wish to say can be said here,” she told him, gesturing briefly around the tent. He didn’t respond, glancing with a barely noticeable frown in Lancelot’s direction who was watching the man from under his eyelashes. Ari raised her eyebrows expectedly, she did not care what Lancelot would hear, she trusted him. She got up and stepped towards the end of their cots, crossing her arms as she waited for an answer.

Lancelot got up and stepped closer, his hand touching her sleeve to get her attention. He decided he’d just remove himself from the situation before things got even more tense than they already were.

Rea’s brow quirked subtly at the way the monster touched her, _there’s something going on that our queen isn’t telling us_. He kept his thoughts to himself for the time being.

Ari turned her head to Lancelot and he scrunched his face for a second, silently telling her to let it go. Not wanting to cause unnecessary tensions, he turned to Squirrel, gesturing with his head towards the entrance, “Come on.” The boy stood from his cot and Lancelot put his hand on Squirrel’s shoulder as he ushered him out through the four or five feet of empty space at the end of their cots.

Ari stood, waiting for Rea to say whatever it was that he had wanted privacy for. He eyed her carefully and waited, letting an eery silence fill the air.

“That dog should not be here,” he snarled abruptly.

“What did you say?” Ari stepped forward into his space, knowing full well what he had said. Her shoulders pulled down as she stiffened.

“You heard me,” the man said boldly, _too boldly_ for Ari’s liking and lacking in any respect for who she was.

“That is not your decision to make,” Ari reminded him. She felt her temper rising and kept her arms crossed, gripping onto herself to keep it at bay.

“You are in my camp,” he took a slow step towards her, his hand flexing over the short sword at his hip.

“A camp which I still rule over,” Ari reminded him of this too, her hard eyes staying focussed on his.

Rea scoffed as he crept closer. “You’re just a girl,” he spat as his head twisted in disapproval. Ari felt his eyes run down her body, prompting a sickly lump to rise in her throat.

“And yet I have more balls than you, Rea,” her sharp tongue seethed with an infuriated bitterness as she stood tall. The man bit down, not liking the insult. He stepped further and got into her space, if he was trying to intimidate her, it was not working.

“What is it with you and the murderer?” His voice lowered to a haunting snarl. Ari did not move her eyes away as she squared up to him, feeling the stench of his breath on her skin.

“I do not have to explain myself to you,” she shook her head. He claimed she was just a girl and yet he was acting like a stroppy child. She felt the fire burning in her veins with her heating temper. Rea’s mouth twisted in a devilish grin as he looked her in the eye. 

“Perhaps you should,” his body started to twist, “or else I’ll-” The ringing of an unsheathed blade echoed in the air and stopped Rea in his threats.

 _Lancelot_.

He had remained just outside of the tent, not wanting to move too far away from Ari. He had a bad feeling about the man, something in his tone, in the way that he acted towards her. He did not trust him, and moreover he did not want him anywhere near Ari. He heard what the man was saying just then and it made his skin crawl. He knew Ari could handle him but she didn’t have to on her own.

Rea turned back to who he presumed was the grey monk, _the Fey murderer_. He glanced the dark cloaked figure up and down, his face half illuminated in the candlelight.

The tension hung in the air so thick Ari felt like she might choke. Lancelot was there, sword drawn and waiting, practically taunting Rea to come closer. She didn’t know what exactly Lancelot might do if he did.

“You are excused, Rea.” Ari dismissed him dryly. He turned back to her with a cocksure smile but she did not back down. He stepped back a pace and was still grinning wickedly at her.

“Every queen needs a guard dog I guess,” he taunted her before he turned on his heels and sauntered towards Lancelot, daring to come close to the well seasoned blade that the Ash man was holding by his side. Rea stood a little too close for Lancelot’s liking.

“Enjoy it whilst it lasts,” the man taunted him in a whisper lowly, barely an audible jest. Lancelot’s eyes narrowed and the urge to resist running the pathetic man through was near impossible to push away, but he did. _How could she have let him speak to her like that?_

Ari watched fiercely as the man walked out of their tent almost too confidently. Her vision blurred as she felt her anger flare. She did not see Lancelot move towards her until she felt his hand over her balled up fist at her side. The careful touch brought her back from the edge and she finally let herself breathe, unfurling her fist and bringing the same hand up to pinch at the bridge of her nose.

“I hate this,” Ari admitted exasperatedly, shaking her head as she tried to control her breaths. She looked up to Lancelot’s concerned eyes, it was the first time he’d ever really seen her doubt her authority. “I’m supposed to be uniting my people not dividing them,” she shrugged.

“It’s not you that’s the problem,” Lancelot said lowly and with grit, casting his eyes down to his mudded feet.

“Don’t you dare,” she said quickly, stepping to him, “don’t you dare put this on you.” He always seemed to do this, to take the blame for things that weren’t his fault. She cursed the Paladins for making him believe that everything was always a burden on his shoulders.

Lancelot’s head tilted away into his hood, “It’s me that they hate.”

His voice was flat and empty and Ari’s heart twisted in its cage. Her eyes were wide and her expression concerned as she tried to reach him with her voice.

“I am not going to give up on you because _this_ makes them uncomfortable,” she said strongly and it silenced him. Ari didn’t entirely know what she had meant ‘this’… _this_ being his presence here, or this being _them_. She wished so much that he would stop with this self loathing for it was only setting him back.

Lancelot looked away, he didn’t deserve such kindness, the compassion that she showed him.

Ari pursed her lips and stepped even closer. With a deep breath she took his already open hand beneath his cloak into hers and threaded their fingers together like they had done before without even questioning it. She would not let him fall back into the Weeping Monk’s shadow, not after he’d come so far.

Lancelot’s eyes widened as he looked back to her, his whole body awakening with the stars that spread up through his veins from his hand laced with hers. He was getting used to having her hand in his, at the warmth and the comfort. But no matter how often she touched his palm or her fingers brushed with his, the same tingle waved up through his wrist, his arm, shoulder to neck and sprouted just behind his ear only to cause another shiver to go straight back down his spine. It happened every time, and he did not think that the feeling would ever go away, he wished that it wouldn’t go away. She seemed to step even closer and his heartbeat had trouble keeping up, their hands twisting together down by his side. He felt the thrum, the nervousness.

“You are worth fighting for,” Ari whispered, looking him straight in the eyes so he had no cause to doubt her. She squeezed her fingers between his for extra measure, feeling his warm uneven breaths across her face.

She’d stepped so close to him that he felt like he was back at the river, she was holding his hand and he could see each fleck of gold in her eyes like he could when he had begged her not to go with the Paladins, like when they had sat beneath the tree. He could feel his heart racing, the sound of her voice again numbing away his troubles, making him feel like he wasn’t just some weapon anymore. He saw her lips part and the heavy breaths escaping from them as they stood together, half in shadow, half in light.

Ari didn’t know what she was waiting for, she was getting lost in the storm just looking at him. His face was merely an inch or two away, it would be so easy to do. She felt the heat low in her body as the world disappeared.

Lancelot’s lips parted slowly as his eyes scanned her face. He had an instinct, a tether on his heart that was telling him what to do and he decided to go with it.

Ari saw Lancelot’s head started to lower towards her beneath the hood. Her heart pounded as the storm got closer and for a second she thought that he was going to-

“Guys!” Squirrel came running into the tent impatiently and Lancelot stepped away, unlacing their fingers as he pulled his hand behind his back. 

Ari cleared her throat unexpectedly and twisted away, feeling her face burning up and her palms sweating. She tried to calm herself and turn back to the boy, not knowing what to expect when she would finally look at Lancelot.

“What did you do?” Squirrel had seen the look on Ari’s face and found himself accusing the former monk once more. He stepped and pointed his childlike steely glance up at the man.

Ari glanced to the man now a short distance away and he looked like he was struggling with the idea of composure even more than she was.

Ari cleared her throat once more as she crossed her arms to stop her hands from fidgeting, “What did you want, Squirrel?”

The boy’s face fell as he turned his attention to her, “There are angry people outside.”

~•~

The mass of Fey stood, feet tapping the ground expectedly as they waited along the paths and between the trees for a response from their queen, jeering their insults and harassments as they stood before her, the Weeping Monk by her side.

“No,” she gave them their answer with a shake of her head. Lancelot kept his face low as he stood to the side of her but he could not hide it from them forever.

“He’s just gonna kill us while we sleep!” An overly eager Fey shouted, the torch in his hand raising higher. They had rather standoffishly asked for Lancelot to be removed, claiming that they did not want him here any longer. It was both a reasonable and unreasonable request for them to make. Ari understood why, if she was in their position she would have done the same, but on the other hand, Lancelot had done nothing wrong thus far. He had not stepped out of line, he had barely even left the tent. To make him sleep out in the cold and snow was not reasonable in her eyes. 

“I would not do that,” Lancelot tried to rebuke as he found his voice and looked up to them. They did not seem to care for what he had said. He knew they would not take his word for it, how could they when he had already done that exact thing so many times? He kept his hands together in front of him. His body was so often his expression and this was a somewhat submissive sign that he had learnt to do in situations like these.

Ari’s voice rose higher than his, she was perhaps more used to speaking up like this than him and her authority as queen would give her so much more of an advantage.

“If he wanted to harm us then he would have killed me long ago,” she proclaimed, “now put your weapons, _down_.” Her voice hardened at the end and she practically snarled at them. Her patience had been tested to only half of its limits today, she would stand here and debate this all night if she needed to. 

“He’s the beast in the stories we tell our little ones at night!” A woman shouted. Lancelot didn’t show it, but that comment in particular hurt. Ari spoke up again.

“I will vouch for him, no harm will come to anyone by his hands,” she looked around between the Fey before her, “or his sword,” she added determinately for extra measure. An older Fey woman stepped forward with an unexpected calmness.

“It is not your word that we want your highness,” she said with a surprising level of curtesy in her tone which quickly changed, “its his head.” She pointed up at Lancelot.

Lancelot did not waver, he had always been prepared for death, he’d anticipated this very moment so many times. He looked to Ari, surprised by how calm she was remaining. He saw the Sunborn queen shining through and for some reason he felt something almost like pride.

Ari rolled her eyes in her mind and continued on, “Lancelot’s fate was already decided by the circle in my own camp.”

“Lancelot?” Another questioned her with a spiteful hurl above the rest, “So this _thing_ has a name.”

Ari ignored the comment, “The Hidden have commanded that he lives and _you will_ respect that and my decision.” They silenced for a few moments but then one younger man spoke up. Rea was surprisingly saying nothing, just smirking as he had done before across at them. Ari tried to ignore him and focussed on those who she could actually reason with.

“How can you trust him?” The younger man spoke up, “What if he’s just lying to you? Playing some sick game?”

“Because he saved my life, I trust him and that is final.”

Lancelot felt his heart stop as he looked at her. A silence fell through the camp. _No, he’s right,_ Lancelot thought, he _is_ lying to her. His world blurred as he watched her speaking, he couldn’t even hear her. He had forgotten all about it, about her father, his secret that was tormenting his mind. A noise echoed in his ears like the ringing of his blade. He had never ignored it for so long, not thinking even once about it all day. _What are you doing? You’ve let this go on for too long._ Somehow her voice pulled him back.

“- Therefore he will stay, _here_ , for tonight. All of you are safe, I assure you. We will leave in the morning.” The fey hummed between themselves. Ari knew that they weren’t happy but this was the best that she would offer, she would not let them harm him. For a reason she didn’t know she turned to Rea at the side, raising her brows and expecting him to agree. She saw him huff and shuffle on his feet before he stepped forwards, his arms raising up as if to usher them all away.

“Come on then,” he raised his voice, “you heard your queen. She gave you her word now off you go, everyone get some rest.” He started to gesture for them to go back to their tents and with some remorseful and questionable looks, they did. Rea turned his blank face back to Ari as they started to walk away. He was still their leader, and despite what he had done and said earlier, she offered him a nod of thanks.

Squirrel dipped quickly back inside the tent, moving to his cot to finally get some sleep.

Ari and Lancelot waited for them all to leave, and when they were finally gone, Ari started to turn back to get some sleep herself.

“Ari,” he caught her gently with his voice, “there’s something I have to te-”

“Not tonight Lancelot?” She turned back with a tired sigh towards him, cutting him off with more frustration than she usually would. Lancelot could see in her face how tired she was, how her eyes had grown weary in the course of the last few minutes. He pulled his shoulders back and said nothing.

“We all need rest,” she said, “can it wait until morning?”

No, it could not wait, he couldn’t take it any longer. His secret had been clawing at him for days and his mind was going to break. He couldn’t stand lying to her any longer.

“Okay,” he said quietly with a gentle nod and a halfhearted smile. He decided not to burden her with this, not tonight, not after all she had just done for him. 

“Thank you,” Ari sighed quietly, her lips turning up tiredly at one corner, then she turned back and disappeared into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dayum... they almost went there huh? (Sings 'its getting hot in here' and winks not so subtly through the screen) I said I wasn't likely to post another chapter as long as the last but I ended up here anyway with one that's even longer... oops.  
> What do we think of Rea? Can we trust him?  
> Threw in a little Arthurian legend with the hounds, though they weren’t actually tied to Lancelot I thought that they could be useful… you’ll see why.


	23. the fine line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ari’s world turns upside down after Lancelot goes missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW// threatening language and mild violence.  
> AN// thank you for all the support with this story! I really appreciate it, I hope you enjoy this one (apologies for the length again) :) x

[[Moodboard](https://captainbucky-yt.tumblr.com/post/645114073598607360/youre-not-what-i-was-looking-for-the-weeping)]

_  
You’ve got my devotion_

Ari found herself being shook awake in the middle of the night by the boy.

“What is it Squirrel?” She mumbled as she rolled over onto her side, her mind protesting to being woken up so early. She turned away from him, wishing that the noise would just disappear.

“It’s Lancelot!” The boy shook her shoulder again, his voice muffled in her ears.

“What?” Ari groaned out her concern as her eyes adjusted to the streams of moonlight coming through the gaps of the tent. She rolled back with a sigh, trying to see Squirrel in the dark.

“He’s gone!” Ari squinted at him confusedly, her foggy mind wasn’t processing anything that Squirrel was saying. _What does he mean he’s gone?_ Squirrel pulled on her arm to try to get her to stand. Ari moved the blankets aside and got up reluctantly, pulling on her boots before her feet met the ground. She followed the boy around the parting to their cots, albeit a little wobbly on her feet, her body hadn’t woken yet either. She tried not to panic just yet but her mind was barely even alert enough to do so. He was probably just outside, she knew how he liked to step out in the cold when he couldn’t sleep. He would walk around for a little while and then he would always come back.

Her head came around the division between her side and theirs. Lancelot was indeed missing. Ari moved past Squirrel and put her hand to their lantern on top of the small wooden chest sitting between the head of their cots. She lit the flame with her palm and turned back to see what the boy was so fussed about.

Lancelot’s cloak was crumpled on the cot which wasn’t unusual but what worried her as her mind came to was the presence of his trusted sword, half drawn from the scabbard and laying messily on the floor. _That’s not like him,_ she thought. Lancelot took good care of that blade, he would not leave it hanging about like that. She stepped closer and saw what Squirrel was then pointing at on Lancelot’s bed as he shuffled nervously on his feet. Her fingers dared to push into the sheets, at the spots of something that had dripped. When she brought her fingers back up to her and turned towards the flame, that’s when she started to worry, it was blood. 

Ari was suddenly alert and knelt to the ground beside the sword and in a growing panic, pushed her unbound palm to the dirt. She searched for him and what she found made her chest constrict in a way she would never have wanted to feel again.

“We have to go,” Ari jumped up to her feet and tugged at the boy to follow her. She would have grabbed her sword but there was no time, they needed to go, _now_.

She started to run out towards the forest and away from the camp, grabbing a bow and quiver from a pile that the scouts had left as she moved past. Behind her, the boy did the same. They ran in between the trees, following footprints which had stupidly been left in the dirt and snow. Her mind raced as she looked at just how many sets there were. Then as she looked up, she could see fire in the distance.

~

Lancelot had woken to a short sword pressed against his neck in the darkness. Everything happened so fast. He startled and twisted to get his sword from the ground beneath his cot but the blade at his throat cut into his skin, causing him to hiss, then something coarse came down into his mouth and was tied roughly behind his head. His hands were pulled together and bound as they forced him from his cot and dragged him out of the tent before he even had a chance to fight back. The night was dark and he could not see who was taking him but he took a chance to glance back at Ari lying fast asleep on her side of the tent. If that was the last chance that he would get to see her, then at least she was at peace. Hands came down on his shoulders and forced him to bend and with regret, he drew his eyes away from her.

Whoever they were pulled him along roughly as he was held bent in two and led him down an uneven forest path. He couldn’t tell how many were around him for it was the dead of night. He tried to dig his heels in but they shoved him along. So he focussed on what he could get of their scents, deciphering that there were four, maybe five tugging him by his arms, hands fisting in his sleeves and tunic, he wasn’t too sure. The shadows of the trees moved quickly past him. He should have expected it and on some level he did, that they would come for him in the night like cowards. He tried to push back against his abductors but they jabbed at his sides and gripped the nape of his neck to push him back down again as he stumbled through the dirt. He’d been in this situation before merely months ago, and it had not ended well for those who tried to harm him. He bided his time, letting them take him to wherever he was going.

Soon he was dragged out into a clearing where three more Fey men were stood waiting besides a few small campfires marking out four corners. When he tried to look up he noticed a shadow at the edge, but a kick to the back of his knees forced him onto the ground as he buckled down onto all fours, his bound hands reaching out to break his fall. He felt the anger rising in him, being abducted in the middle of the night was not something he was used to. The Fey backed off and encircled him as the silence fell and filled with nothing but the spitting of the fires.

“Tell me Weeping Monk, how is it that you are alive, hey?” The shadow gestured to him limply, “And escorting our beloved Queen and a boy?”

He recognised the voice, a voice he wanted to squander like an ant beneath his boot. Lancelot pushed himself up to rest back on his knees and stared up at the pathetic excuse of a man in front of him. The shadow moved out from the edge and lit a torch in one of the fires, bringing his face into view. He started to stalk forwards, flaming torch in hand.

“What have you done, to get on her good side?” Rea, the stout Fey leader spat as he crept towards Lancelot, “To warrant her protection?” He cocked his head, voice taut with disgust for the Monk.

 _Do you really think that you can intimidate me?_ The man could ask all of the questions that he wanted to, but like an idiot his men had bound Lancelot’s mouth, though perhaps that’s what Rea wanted, for him to be seemingly defenceless in every way. Lancelot’s mind turned over. _Why so many men?_ If the man was really as tough as he was trying to make out that he was, then why didn’t he just face him man to man? _Are you scared of me, Rea?_

The man circled in closer, his boots landing heavily in the dirt. The campfires were small but strong enough to highlight his figure as he moved, winding his way around where the Ash man was knelt in the muddied snow. Lancelot didn’t care for the others around him, they were just pawns in whatever game this was. His eyes followed Rea until he was no longer in his sights, his jaw clamping down on the cloth between his teeth as the man lowered the torch close to his side whilst he circled his body. Unluckily for Rea, Lancelot was not scared of fire, and the Fey leader should know that already.

Rea circled him slowly, taunting him with the fire that warmed the air around him. He felt like a wounded animal, he could see the wolves rounding through the darkness, waiting for the right moment to strike as he sat caught within their trap. He heard Rea's slithering voice speak up as he got to his side and came back into view.

“Tell us monk, what would you favour? A slow death perhaps?” His voice teased him and his inability to respond, “I can do this all night... wear you down until there is nothing left and thanks to that gag, no one will hear your screams.” Rea stopped before him once more, squaring back his broad shoulders. The silence that followed was on purpose, the tension in the air feeling like it would snap at any moment. Rea was trying to wait him out, to make him crack of his own accord. But Rea had no idea of what he had been through, this attempt at intimidation was nothing compared to what Lancelot had known in his life. If he had to be here all night and take their insults and clenched fists then he would. The Sky folk hummed as he looked like he was considering him.

“What should we start with?" He stepped closer, "How about those weeping eyes of yours?” Rea's hand skirted over the end of his sword at his hip whilst his other hand flexed its grip around the torch.

Lancelot looked up to him with those weeping eyes, feeling his marks prick beneath his skin, telling him to act and fight but he resisted. No, he would not move just yet, he was biding his time. Rea carried on with his one-sided conversation as if he thought that Lancelot might respond. He barely made a sound, he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how he tested his resentment. Rea's arm suddenly lifted in one swift motion.

“Although, I heard you like fire,” the torch came dangerously close across his face and Lancelot turned his head away and leant back just in time to avoid being burned, yet he still felt the heat of the flames across his skin. He grit his teeth into the cloth at the pain that throbbed in his neck as he avoided the hot embers. This one sided conversation was starting to test his patience. Every muscle in his body tensed and he felt the rope binds digging into his wrists, but he did not care, he ignored that sting. _This_ he knew how to navigate, the path was well worn and he found a strange comfort in how his body stiffened. Like the anticipatory moment just before the crack of the leather hit his ears, his tension prepared him for what would happen to him, and it strangely settled his nerves. Lancelot twisted back as he eyed the man, all talk and no trousers, threatening to make him suffer and yet he was still relatively unharmed. Rea wasn’t speaking, and Lancelot wondered what the hell he was going to try and make him crack with next. He did not have to wait long to find out.

“The girl said that you would not hurt us and yet... she said nothing of us hurting _you_.”

 _That’s a lie, you know that she did._ Lancelot's nose twitched with the mention of Ari and it was a mistake, he knew that Rea saw his reaction, saw the darkening of his face. Rea grinned at him as he found the nerve to touch to get into Lancelot’s mind. Lancelot glowered at the man with distaste whilst he waited for whatever chide was coming next, his blue eyes hardening into ice. Rea's mouth twisted then let out a low, condescending _aww_ as he started to circle him once more, not bringing the torch as close to his side this time. He made his way around to stand behind his shoulder.

“Perhaps you care about her?” The mocking voice spoke up as Rea leaned in too close for Lancelot’s liking just as he had done earlier. The other Fey snickered at what had been said and Lancelot bit down, _that’s not your concern._ The grit in the Fey’s slithering voice pricked like thorns in an already open wound, _your problem is with me, not her, leave Ari out of this_.

Rea rounded past his other side to stand before Lancelot a pace or two away, circling him like some tired old vulture. Something in the man’s wicked smile that was illuminated harshly by the burning torch in his hand made him look like the devil himself. The gag between Lancelot’s teeth stifled his involuntary angered growl, his body tensing at the piercing look of determination on the man’s face. He shifted a little in the dirt to prepare himself, if he was going to die tonight then he would go down fighting. He started to discreetly pull on the binds around his wrists as he watched the man’s darkened eyes. The snake crept closer, leaning forward as if to hiss his slithering words into his ear. Lancelot’s heart stopped.

“Perhaps... you want her between your-” Rea’s words were strangled as Lancelot thrust his forehead into the man’s face eagerly with full force. Rea staggered backwards and pinched his nose as he let out shrill curses, blood dripping down his face as the flamed torch landed in the dirt.

Lancelot sat back up quickly and a wicked smirk of his own spread across his face despite the gag. As soon as Lancelot’s forehead made contact with the man he knew that he was in trouble, but he didn’t regret it. The pathetic man hadn’t just insulted him, he had insulted Ari, and Lancelot would not let that pass. He grinned, wide eyed with a raging storm at the blood that he had drawn. He felt the Fey moving in and then everything happened so fast. Someone moved to kick at his ribs and another hurtled something blunt at his back. Rough fists made contact with his face, his forehead and cheek before a boot came to his ribs again and his body gave way, letting him fall. The world went dark as his eyes screwed shut, blowing out air through his nose just to find some kind of relief. He felt the blood dripping down his face, down his neck. He was pulled up from the ground by the nape of his tunic and put back onto his knees. The weight of his head made it roll back heavily and he couldn’t quite catch a breath. He saw the bloodied Rea unsheathing his sword when he opened his hooded eyes and stagger towards him.

“Fine then, if that’s how you want to play it,” the leader threatened through a broken nose, his snarl getting progressively louder as he thrust his way forward towards a kneeling, defenceless Lancelot, held down by the hands around his neck.

Lancelot braced himself for what was about to come, what he knew that he deserved. He felt the wind change, a faint whisper in the treetops above him. The Fey’s sword was grasped tightly in hand and ready to swing, he was merely a couple of paces away when two arrows landed in the space between them, thudding as they ripped through the dirt.

“Move again and my next arrow will not just be a warning!”

 _Ari_. Lancelot turned his head painfully to see her standing tall at the edge of the clearing, a bow raised up and ready to loose another arrow. His vision was a little blurred but he could see her. He hadn't sensed her approaching, for he'd locked onto the scent of his own and Rea's blood like a hound. The bloody faced man came from the corner of Lancelot’s eye and into his direct line of view. Lancelot had no choice but to watch as he stalked his way slowly, hauntingly over towards Ari and the boy beside her. _Don’t you dare touch her._

~

Ari had seen Lancelot’s forehead plant into the man in the distance as she dodged between the trees. She did not know what was said to cause this reaction from him but Rea most likely deserved it, Lancelot wouldn’t hurt him without cause. She did not hesitate to loose the arrows, a couple of well placed warning shots that landed between the Ash and Sky men. All eyes turned to her and some of the other Fey seemed to back away.

As Lancelot knelt there before Rea, unmoving and bloodied, she thought that he looked prepared for death, yet still he pulled his shoulders back and lifted his head high as he looked at her. She could see the relief on his face and felt an ache so strong in her heart as it bled for him but she tore her eyes away, diverting her attention to where it was needed. She tilted the bow towards those gripping onto his neck and shoulders and they seemed to get the message, letting him go and stepping away. Then Rea started to step towards her, twisting his sword in his hand, gaining the point of her arrow to be trained on him. By rule of their customs she could not harm him, but Rea did not seem to care as he stalked forwards with a taunting grin.

“What is it, your highness?” Rea growled, defying his queen as he dared her to loose the arrow pointed at his chest. Her hand twitched around the bow as the incredulous man stalked closer. His eyebrow cocked and she could see the bridge of his nose was split open in two, bleeding out down across his face. He was testing her, pushing her to ruin herself and her reputation just to save the life of one man. She remained silent yet strong, her hard golden eyes fixed on the unearthly darkness in his.

“Has he bedded you? Is that it?” Rea hissed.

Ari’s eyes narrowed at him as they hardened impossibly further, _bastard_. If he had intended to anger her then it was working, for she felt her blood boil within her veins. _You’re playing with fire, Rea._ He could take any other jab at her and she would not care but _that_ , that was not his business and completely uncalled for. She started to lower the bow as he got dangerously too close to it, tempting fate was not something she was in the mood for tonight. The man stalked closer until he got to just in front of her face, his voice a hallowing whisper as his breath hit her skin. Her chest fell deeply.

“Is the monster that good of a _lover_ that you refuse to kill him?”

Ari reacted without giving the snake the courtesy of a second thought. She hooked her free arm, punching him hard and strong and square in the jaw before he even had a chance to blink. She kicked at his knees and forced him to the ground with a hand grasped tightly around the nape of his neck. Her palms were unbound, she knew that she should restrain herself because of her powers but she didn’t care. For once she did not hold back her temper, she would not allow such insults and insinuations to go unpunished.

Squirrel raised his bow towards Lancelot’s aggressors from beside her, his eyes trained on them as they tried to step closer.

“You dare to disrespect your queen?” Ari shouted down at Rea, her voice seething with rage as she pushed him further towards the ground and let go. He fell down heavily onto his side, grunting as the wind blew out of his mouth. Her eyes tunnelled down on him as she watched him writhe. He looked shocked and seemed to be infuriated that he was defeated so easily by the _girl_ that he had claimed her to be the evening before. Ari towered over him, her bow still in hand and grasping on with whitened knuckles, _you should not have underestimated me_.

Lancelot saw the fire in Ari’s blown out eyes even through the darkness, an anger she had not shown him before, beyond what he had seen even when they had fought. If she was the bull then Rea was the cape and he was about to get his just rewards. He was still knelt to the ground, steadying his rattling breaths as he watched on with intent. He could see the heavy rise and fall of her chest, how she had known what was happening he did not know, but he was thankful. He had always been prepared to die but now he felt like he had something worth living for, and she had just saved his life.

“Go, all of you,” Ari rose her voice at the others as she picked her head up, “and pray to the Hidden that I do not see you in the morning.”

The men looked around at each other and slowly retreated under Ari’s stare, the flames still burning in her eyes. One of them, a young one, practically still a boy stepped unexpectedly and undid the bounds around Lancelot’s wrists before hurrying to join his comrades. Squirrel twisted and turned and kept his bow trained on the abductors as they moved back towards their homes. He started to follow them like the stubborn young knight he was, just to make sure.

Lancelot winced as he moved his newly freed hands to his face and pulled at the gag around his mouth. His ribs, he did not think that they were broken but they were definitely going to hurt for days. _Great_ , he huffed to himself.

Ari watched as they all left, practically running back towards their homes as they glanced back towards their leader. She waited for them to get out of sight, she would not humiliate Rea any more than she already had done whilst they were still here.

She dropped the bow completely and grasped onto the back of Rea’s tunic as he tried to crawl away, pulling him up onto his knees. She lowered her voice to his ear and tugged him back.

“Speak to me or him that way again and my arrows will not miss,” she warned him. Rea did not seem to acknowledge her so she grit her teeth and tugged him again.

“Do you understand?” She growled like the hounds in the Druid’s flames.

“Yes, your grace,” he breathed, dazed and unsteady from the wind knocked out of him. She heaved him up onto his feet and pushed him away.

“Get out of my sight,” she spat. He stumbled around whilst he found his footing and Ari turned to make sure that he did as she said.

Lancelot pushed himself up to one knee, and with bated breath and a silent wince pushed himself onto his feet. His lip stung where his previous wound had reopened and he felt the iron taste all over his tongue, although that was perhaps as well from the trace of something he felt smearing from his nose. The cut across his neck was painful and bled down into his tunic, but it wasn’t too deep. He already felt the bruises setting in on his ribs and face. Lancelot wasn’t bothered by the pain, it was nothing he hadn’t felt before, and if it were a few weeks ago then he would have relished in it, thanking his God for cleansing his soul. His eyes came into focus when Ari was suddenly in front of him.

Ari didn’t know what she was thinking or if she was even thinking at all, her mind had gone blank and her vision had gone red, then her body ran into his and she locked her arms around his neck.

Lancelot almost stumbled back when he felt her warmth crash against his chest and for the first time in his life, he let _The Weeping Monk_ go. He circled his arms around her waist and held her tighter than he’d held anyone before, tighter than he’d held _her_ before. So tight that he felt like he couldn’t breathe and he was afraid to let go. Her violet and leather scent filled his senses, the familiarity grounding him to a calmness in his mind. Her hair brushed against his cheek as he felt her turn her face into his shoulder. He was so relieved. Her body had been like ice when he had pulled her from the river, but now all he could feel was the warmth of her pressed against him. It felt like he finally knew what home could be. He didn’t know what else to do, this was new, he had never embraced anyone this way. He turned his face into her neck as she was doing and just breathed her in, ignoring the aches in his body that were telling him to let her go.

Ari felt the steadying rise and fall of his chest and finally let herself breathe. Giving a shaky sigh of relief she closed her eyes and just stood still as she reached up, her face burying down into his shoulder. He felt so warm, so alive, despite it being the middle of winter and they were standing out in the cold in the black of night. His nose pressed into the space beneath her ear and his even breaths ran down her neck, sending shivers down her spine. She felt herself finally relax as his solid frame held her up. Ari hadn’t even recognised his arms wrapping around her, that he was holding her against him so she would know he was safe. 

Lancelot’s world had faded away but his pain came back to him suddenly and he hissed unexpectedly. 

Ari pulled herself away quickly at the noise he made, one which reminded her that he was bloodied and likely bruised right then. Her cheek brushed against his before their eyes locked. She felt the spark from the way their faces touched, and from the look on Lancelot’s face, he felt it too. Her mouth hung slightly agape as her hands fell to keep a hold on his arms. She was slightly worried, afraid of what he would think of the sudden embrace. 

“Sorry,” she whispered apologetically as she looked up at him with wide eyes, their faces only a hand’s distance away from each other. Her breath shook as her eyes darted between his. She hadn’t thought about his injuries when she flung herself at him, it was careless, but she had been so relieved that she didn’t know how else to react. Lancelot let out a single chuckle through his nose so small that he barely felt it, but Ari heard it, and it made the corners of her mouth tip upwards in a sad smile. A moment too late and she would have lost him. The warmth of his hands seeped through her over-shirt above her elbows and she realised that he was holding onto her too.

“It’s okay,” he said gently, giving her a lopsided smile that he was still getting used to. She looked at him with such relief and compassion that for a moment, he thought that maybe he would learn what it was like to have the love of a woman. But was he willing to risk it? Risk all that he had been taught? Risk whatever _this_ was with her? He had looked at her in a different light since she had tried to sacrifice herself to the Paladins in place of Percival and himself. He couldn’t place the feeling exactly. It was all so, _new_. Her unsteady gaze shifted to his bloodied lips and he saw her mouth part only for the moment to be broken, once again, by the boy.

“Are you two gonna dance or something?” He asked, his face scrunching into one of slight disgust. He remembered how the adults at Dewdenn used to look at each other this way when they were drunk before they would ‘dance’. The poor boy wanted to run away and hide so that he didn’t have to see this.

The pair both cleared their throats and looked away sheepishly, remembering that they were still holding onto each other’s arms. They both stepped back from one other and put a short unwanted distance between them. They heard the boy’s footsteps as he strolled over to them, his own and Ari’s acquired bows in his little hands.

“Wow, you look like crap,” he said jokingly to Lancelot as he came to stand in the gap they had made between them, “I mean you’re ugly anyway but this is a new low don’t you think Ari?” He twisted towards her with a smirk.

Ari looked away from the boy and down to her feet, feeling a blush creep across her face which she should not allow. _What is it with you and blushing these days?_

Lancelot watched her avert her gaze and felt a heat creep onto his own face too. He hadn’t wanted her to let go, that was the first time he had ever been close with anyone that way and his chest tightened just wanting one more second of her holding him. Her warmth had immediately soothed him, making him forget about what had just happened. He had never known that he had needed such an embrace before now. 

Squirrel just rolled his eyes as he observed the obviously clueless pair and turned away to walk back to their tent mumbling, _Hidden help me_.

Ari cleared her throat again, a nervous reaction to the bubbling she felt in her stomach. She could feel his eyes on her and she felt like she was going to melt.

“Can you walk?” She asked him as she picked her head up. His weeping eyes didn’t deviate from her and after a moment, he nodded.

“Okay, well, lean on me if you need to,” she offered with a sad smile, taking in his bloody state. She looked to the sky and saw that they still had a few hours before dawn, enough time to at least get the blood off of him before it dried. She noticed the cloth gag hanging around his neck and told him to press it to the nearby cut whilst she put out the campfires. She left one with a dim flame to ward off any animals who might decide to sneak in to the camp before morning. She returned to him and they made way to follow the boy back to the tent.

~•~

Lancelot’s arm was around Ari’s shoulder whilst she hovered her other arm behind his back in case he needed steadying further. He had started to wince as they walked and Ari had immediately put her body next to his to prop him up, holding his hand over her shoulder. The boy pushed the veiled entrance to the tent aside and they ducked through the gap to get in.

“Make sure it’s tied,” Ari advised Squirrel as he put the fabric acting as a door back into place.

“Here,” she said gently, guiding the wounded Ash man over towards her cot, “there’s more space to clean you up,” she clarified for him. Her side was the same size as theirs but there was just one cot pushed back against the inside of the tent instead of two. She sat him down onto the edge of the wooden bed and he tried to get into a comfortable position, his newly bruised ribs making it a little difficult. She turned to the small trunk that was next to her cot and searched for anything she could use. She picked out a lantern with a candle inside and lit it with her fire, putting it down by the trunk for now.

“Done,” the boy said, smiling proudly at his handiwork which was honestly quite a mess, but it’d do. Ari glanced back to him, looking over his work to approve.

“Thank you, try and get some sleep. We won’t be long,” she said and turned back to picking out some clean cloth from the chest.

Squirrel threw a concerned glance at Lancelot who nodded to confirm her words. The boy stifled a yawn and went to lay on his cot on the other side of the dark division, kicking his boots off as he curled under the wool blanket. It wasn’t too long before he would fall back off to sleep, the rush of adrenaline wearing off quickly.

Ari picked up the cloths she had found and the flask of water from beside her bed. She put them on the cot and stood in front of him. Her fingers undid the bloodied cloth from around his neck, peeling it away carefully and tossed it to the ground. Lancelot had already tried to pull at the ties of his tunic which ran down his sides and he was still trying to when she looked back.

“Let me?” She asked and he glanced up at her with widening eyes, his hand stopping by his ribs. Lancelot looked higher up at her face, so full of concern. He nodded slowly and dropped his hand, cocking his elbow out so that she could get at the lacing. Ari undid that side with ease and then moved to the other side, repeating the same action.

“You might have to stand,” she said with an apologetic grimace and Lancelot did immediately, albeit slowly. The long tunic was heavy and it took a bit of strength for Ari to lift it over his head without hurting him. She wondered how exactly he managed to fight with that thing on. Lancelot sat back down with a quiet groan straight away.

The next layer to go was the padded grey overcoat worn out from all his years of wearing it. He started to undo it whilst Ari put down his tunic on the end of the cot. Lancelot’s steady fingers undid the buttons down the front and he shrugged himself out of it with her help. He felt strange about her undressing him, there was usually someone there to unlace the ties on his tunic if he needed them to but the rest he would do himself. The last item to go was his shirt which was staining with blood at the collar.

“Can I?” Ari asked softly, motioning towards the hem of his light grey shirt which was desperately in need of a wash. Lancelot was hesitant for a second, feeling a flush across his cheeks as he looked up at her. She’d already seen his torso before, weeks ago when he was in a much worse state than this. He wasn’t exactly insecure about what he looked like but with her, and his new feelings, he just wanted to be better than he was. Lancelot pulled himself back together and remembered that this would hurt a lot less if he let her help him. He moved his hands to undo the cords down his sternum, loosening them so that he could get his head through easily. Ari’s hands went to the hem and she began to bring it upwards. Lancelot tried to stifle the noises his pain was causing him to make as he lifted his arms above his head and bent forwards. He was used to pain, used to not letting it show on his face, but he felt safe with her to allow it.

Ari tried to be as quick and careful as she could, moving further to his side so her legs stood on either side of his knee to get a better grip. As she pulled the shirt over his head, she saw again the scars lining his back and she tried not to gasp. She had not forgotten that they were there but the sight still made her heart ache for him. She wanted to touch them, to let them feel a comfort that they likely never had known before. But the thought was delicate and she wouldn’t touch him there, not in that way, not without his permission. Though she had to admit, the sight of him half dressed made her stomach flutter just a little bit more than it should do in this particular moment.

Ari turned around and picked up the water skin from the cot, removing the stop and dampening one of the cloths with the contents. Lancelot kept an eye on her as she prepared the things to once again clean his wounds. He felt his heart beating quicker, he had no rational reason to be nervous around her, _but he was_. They had been so close merely hours ago, fingers twisting together as they stood only an inch apart. He had almost let himself fall into something he had never known. 

Ari turned back to him with a sad smile, “This might hurt.” Lancelot pursed his lips and tilted his head, indicating for her to continue anyway. He didn’t quite trust his voice to speak to her just yet. He knew it would be painful, he’d had many wounds such as these, too many to count. She checked him over quickly, he had bruises forming along some of his ribs and one at his cheekbone and forehead. His lip had reopened and bled, along with the cut to his neck and grazes from the bounds over his wrists. She noted his silence but she didn’t question it, he was hurt and in pain and most likely just trying to keep himself together.

Ari took a deep breath in and stood between his legs, putting the damp cloth to his lip as her other hand gently held his chin steady. She tried not to think of their moment from earlier, of how he bent down so slowly towards her. She remembered her heart stopping when she realised what he was doing, that he was leaning in _that way_ for a reason.

Lancelot looked up to her as she concentrated. She was being so delicate with him and it made him even more nervous. No one had held his face like this before, not even Ari. He felt the cloth sting his wound but he did not let it show. His hands fiddled with threads of the blanket that hung off of the edge of the bed between his legs, he didn’t know where else to put them, not now that she was standing so close to him like this. He noticed how her lips pushed to one side when she was concentrating and he couldn’t help but let his eyes settle on them.

Ari could feel his intense stare but she stayed focussed on what she was doing. She wiped away at the traces of blood staining his lip, what had bled from his nose and smeared across his chin before moving to his neck, where the Fey’s blade had cut him low down and towards his airway. It wasn’t too deep and she cleaned it up easily with the water. Lancelot tensed beneath her a few times and she apologised quietly for each one with a grimace, checking his eyes which flicked to her before she continued. The cut would need to be given a couple of stitches and wrapped but she would have to do that in the morning when she could find the right equipment.

Lancelot had to force himself not to look at her when she bent down a little to inspect his neck. It almost hurt him inside to do so but he knew that his feelings for her would bite at him stronger if he didn’t.

Ari sat down beside him tentatively and wet a new piece of cloth from the chest. She took one of his wrists, dabbing at the grazes formed by the rope. When she was satisfied, she took his other wrist and did the same.

“What are you going to do with them?” Lancelot asked in his quiet rasp, referring to his attackers. She wondered how his voice was always this low, whether he was unusually happy or angry, talking to her or the boy, it never deviated from this low husk. It’s like he was scared to let his voice be heard, _another consequence of the Paladins_ , she suspected.

Ari took a deep breath, her hands slowed with what they were doing, “it wasn’t right what they did to you, but-”

“You understand why they did it,” Lancelot finished for her, his eyes flicking over her turned down face.

Ari looked quickly up into his eyes, her mouth parting like she was going to protest, “that’s not what I-”

“It’s okay,” he tried to reassure her, nodding gently. He pushed himself to not be phased by what had happened, by how they had attacked him, but he was seething on the inside, _have control_. They had attacked him and he hated that he couldn’t have fought back, regardless of if they were Fey or not he had made a promise to himself, and to Ari. He couldn’t help but think what if he broke that promise? How far would he have gone to defend himself? How many of them would he had killed if Ari and Squirrel hadn’t diffused the situation.

Ari shook her head and pushed away the idea that everything was simply fine from her mind quickly, she had promised him that he would be safe here. Her body somehow shuffled closer.

“No, it’s not,” she pleaded, water threatening to break from her eyes. Her attention fell a little onto his bruising body when she spoke, “I should punish them by right, you are Fey-”

“They didn’t know that,” he sighed. He could see the tears lining her golden eyes. “It’s okay, Arianne.”

Her eyes darted between his as her own widened, _how does he know my name?_ Ari felt her heart begin to race in her chest as she looked into his eyes, soft and blue, full and warm with emotion unlike ever before despite what had just happened to him. _Why would he do this? Dismiss the wrong that had been done to him?_ She hated and loved the way that he was looking at her. It stirred her insides and made her crave for something she shouldn’t.

Lancelot felt the embers burning between them, they swirled and danced within the pit of his stomach and came up to the surface beneath his skin as she looked at him like that. A shiver ran down his spine, there was something he should have said to her but was too afraid to do so before. He swallowed and took a slow breath, not breaking his contact with her in the delicate silence as he relaxed a little.

“I care about you,” he whispered, trying to cover the nervousness in his naturally low voice. He didn’t think that he’d ever told her so plainly, had ever made his feelings so obvious as this.

Ari’s heart jumped out of her chest. He smelt of blood and war and yet all she saw was him, his soul as he bared it before her. His weeping eyes drew slowly up to hers and the flickers of the candlelight reflected in the perfect storm. Ari had learned that Lancelot was a man of action and not words, so for him to say something such as that, it must have been truth. She saw him take the inner of his lip between his teeth as he awaited some kind of response, but she had none for her mind had stopped functioning.

Lancelot could see that he had overstepped, he chided himself for being so foolish. His shoulders sat tensed as he swallowed down and turned his face away. In one motion he went to stand but he felt her touch his cheek.

Ari had thought that they were leaning towards something, and she didn’t want to scare him off, but when he started to pull back at her silence she realised that she didn’t want him to leave. Ari placed all of her bets on him and tested the feelings that she thought were true. His face turned back quickly and his eyes locked onto hers, she didn’t know how to say it with words but she cared about him too. He hadn’t gotten far but he slowly settled back down, twisting more to face her.

Ari’s hand came further up his cheek and he felt the spark again like he had done before. He leant into her soft palm as her thumb pressed over the stream of his weeping tears. His eyes drifted shut while he just breathed her in. Ari was it for him, the cure for all his heartache. He knew he should not covet her touch, but he did it anyway. She was the antidote to the poison that was his past life which seeped through his veins like the deep roots of an old tree.

Ari had wanted to do this before when they were sat beneath the hollow tree, when they entwined their hands together so tenderly, but she had restrained herself from reaching out to him then. She had always told herself that she couldn’t, that she _shouldn’t_ but... what if she did?

The softness of her skin warmed Lancelot in a way that he had never known. He felt the pad of her thumb rub across his marks, they had never been touched so gently, not even by his own hand. Lancelot found his eyes began to sting as he opened them again slowly, his scarred heart beating strongly inside of his broken chest. It felt so personal, so intimate. He had held her hand before and she had held onto him not even an hour ago, but _this_ , the way her simple touch turned into a gentle caress, these things held a deeper meaning. Lancelot didn’t know what exactly he wanted, but whatever _this_ was, it felt right. He looked at her in the dim candlelight which lit half of her face, but still he thought she was beautiful. Her unbound hair had fallen and tried to hide her from him.

Ari’s soft eyes flicked to his, she had not seen his hand move until she felt his skin brush across her forehead. The shiver from his touch splintered across her face, shuddered down her neck and radiated over her body, _Hidden why does he do this to me?_

Lancelot nervously reached his hand up, long delicate fingers brushing her fallen hair away behind her ear, letting him see her fully. It was not the first time he had done that but it was the first time that Ari had been aware of his action. She could stop him, she could push him away if it was too much and he would not disrespect that. 

Ari looked down to his chest, breaking away from the burning in his gaze that she so very much adored, feeling her face flush red in the darkness. It had been so long since she was close to any person this way. All of those that she had cared for like this were all gone, they had been torn from the world and now it was just her. _You’ve been alone for long enough now, but... you’re not alone any more._

Ari dared with bated breath to ask for more. Drawing her hand down from his face, she crossed the scar over his collarbone and wondered what story it held. She did everything slowly, deliberately, _delicately_ , giving him a hundred chances to stop her if he wanted to. She knew in her bones that she wanted this.

Ari left a trail of fire as her hand moved down his neck. She brushed over the parts of him that had once been numb and brought them back to life again. Her face had shied away from him yet still he watched her, he memorised the feeling of every brush of her fingertips down his chest and his heartbeat stopped when they settled. The air was so delicate he practically tasted the shift in her scent, the _thing_ that he was recognising more and more when they had been close to each other and yet he still didn't know what it meant.

The burning between them simmered in the air, taunting them with a hope that something might happen, that perhaps they might find some kind of release from all of this pain. They heard the winds and the whispers winding through the trees, muttering sweet nothings in their ears. Whatever this was had been built from many little things, details that would seem so small to anyone else. There was one step left, one final leap that seems tiny from a distance but grows larger the closer you get to the edge. They were there together at the start of the unknown. But if you stand at the precipice and just simply look down, then you would never know the thrill of what it is like to fall.

Lancelot had learned long ago to control his hands. They were his expression, everything that he had done in his life came from them. All of the hurt, all of the pain. He had always trusted them, if his hands were steady then he knew that he was where he belonged. And now as he debated what to do, as Ari’s palm rested over his wounded soul, his hands were steady, and they told him all that he needed to know.

Ari felt the heat move within her when his fingers ran across from the soft bend in her jaw to her chin, like he was the traveller and she was the map, he was memorising the path he had forged. The roughness of his scarred palm rested against her neck with such delicacy, like he thought she might break as his thumb moved and brushed over her lips, tracing them. She still could not look him in the eye, her own watching as his bare chest rose and fell beneath her hand. They were becoming somewhat of a team, Ari with her determined voice, Lancelot with his strength and calmness. In an unexpected way they balanced each other out. When one was spiralling the other seemed to know what to do to bring them back down. In both love and war there must be harmony, and somehow the queen of the Fey and the crusading traitor had found it in one another.

Lancelot could not quite believe what he was doing, what she was letting him do to her. How she was allowing his hands that were still stained with the colours of war to touch her skin this way. He could not think of a time he had ever been quite this tender with another, only ever with her, _always her_. He studied her face, every soft line and every freckle until she looked slowly up through her eyelashes and her shoulders relaxed further towards him, her hand pressing warmth gently over where his heart was beating with a strength like no other within its ivory cage. _Do not taint her Lancelot, do not break her. She is life, she is gold, and you are the darkness that crawls in the night. The shadow that casts over the landscape._

“Is this what you want?” Her quiet, breathy voice broke from her lips as his thumb still rested against them, her heartbeat stuttering beneath her chest. _Yes, please just say yes_.

Lancelot’s eyes flicked up to hers and he froze. He knew that if they did this then everything would change. He’d only just gotten comfortable with all that was happening but this, _them_ , it was a delicate balance that he was trying keep. Too much pressure one way or the other and he would ruin it all, the only good thing he had ever held in his life. He didn’t want to falter but he did, he didn’t know how to respond with words. _Yes_ , was the answer but he couldn’t just say it like that, could he? Lancelot started to realise that he had not given her a response and picked his other hand up, resting it over where hers was pressed on his chest. He held his breath and waited, hoping that it was enough.

Ari’s lips broke into a warm smile, the fire in her eyes somehow both softened and emblazoned themselves as they pulled on his heart towards her. Lancelot realised then that he was ready. Ready for this world, this life. Ready to leave all of the bad that the Paladins had taught him behind and start new, _with her_ , if she would have him. He waited for another sign, a gesture from her to show him that she wanted this too. He waited until he could not take the simmering of the flames that burned between them in the silence any longer.

“Do you?” He asked quietly, needing to know. He had never thought that she would want him, never allowed himself to think that she might.

Ari had never felt so nervous for something so intimate before. It was stupid, she’d kissed men before, but never one such as Lancelot. _Hidden_ _she wanted to be near to him so badly._ His eyes drifted across her face and settled on her lips, and that was the moment when Ari knew both his and her own answer.

“Yes,” she breathed and it felt like relief.

Time seemed to slow and blend into one moment. Ari’s hand came from beneath his brushed back up the path it had made to the crux of his neck as she tilted herself a little further. Her hooded eyes followed the careful movements of her fingertips across his skin, leaving a trail of heat that made Lancelot shiver beneath her touch.

Lancelot wanted to test the water, he wanted to explore what this moment might be like. He had never done this before and she knew that, he didn’t even know if he could, _he needed to find out_. Lancelot watched her eyes with nothing but adoration as he started to bend towards her. He scanned over her face for any sign that he should stop.

Ari felt his chest shift and she looked up to him, at the darkening storm in his eyes, _oh how she loved to dance in the rain_. They leant their bodies in closer, so slow it was almost painful. The urge to just pull him towards her right then was so strong but Ari restrained herself, he was bruised and bloodied and he had never been this way with a woman before. Then his thumb moved to just beside her lips as he cradled her jaw and she could not take the lingering anticipation for much longer. Her own storm swelled as the whispers outside grew louder.

Lancelot felt his insides winding tighter as the pleasant anxiousness built up within his nerves. It had always been the moment before the first clash of a sword, before the first break of dawn that he dreaded the most, where so much could happen in the blink of an eye. His breath shallowed under her touch as her hand trailed up to where her palm met his jaw, radiating tingles like the stars to many different forbidden places within him. They edged and edged along the fine line until they were a hair’s width apart. He felt her breaths on his skin, the heat of her body. It was like he had one foot over the edge of the precipice. In order to know the fall all he had to do was let go, _just let go._

Ari waited for him, just about controlling her unsteady breaths. Her lip ran through her teeth, traced by her tongue. The thrill of the anticipation was almost too much to bear as it crept up her spine. Ari glanced her eyes up to his for one last look at the eternal blueness they hold, at the way they were gazing at her with such affections that she had forgotten could exist. 

Lancelot swallowed his fears, left his inhibitions behind and dipped his tilting head down to close the distance, his heart racing as it beat out of control. But then Ari’s lips touched his first, and he understood now what it all meant. His feelings suddenly became clear and he knew exactly what they were telling him.

Lancelot stilled when she kissed him, breath hitching through his nose, his brows lifting lightly at the new sensation. He knew it was going to happen, he had wanted them to do this, and yet it still somehow caught him off guard. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do, the uncharted surface had broken but he wanted to dive deeper. A warmth ran through his body that told him he was safe in this new vulnerability and he allowed himself to relax. His lips came together instinctively as he pressed them to hers with a delicate gentleness and his eyes drifted shut. His broken lip stung at the contact but it made him remember that he was alive, that he was okay and that he was here with her. Her kiss was soft, not like what he thought it might be. The intoxicating sweetness was like honey on her lips, the forbidden fruit where the temptation was more than his damned soul could handle. He didn’t know he could feel so much just from this one simple act as his chest tightened with a yearning for this touch he had never known before now.

Ari broke away all too soon and Lancelot immediately wanted to follow her, wherever she was going he knew he would follow her. He didn’t know why she had parted them. _Have I done something wrong? Done this wrong?_ But when he opened his eyes and saw hers a mere inch or two before him, with a gentle tug on her lips and her eyebrows slightly raised, he knew that she was checking with him. She was letting him decide what would happened next, giving him the choice that had so often been taken from him. She made his heart ache even more, few people had ever really cared for what he wanted before. 

Ari didn’t want to pull back but she had to make sure, to see if he wanted more or to stop before she got carried away. Either way, she would let him decide and his choice would be okay. Kissing him was a leap into the unknown, something important to him and she wanted to do it right. If it was too much then they could slow down and if it wasn’t what he wanted anymore then she would stop. She prepared her mind for whatever option he would choose as their heavy breaths filled the air in the practically nonexistent distance between them. His mouth was parted and his eyes looked half blown out with bliss and half with worry. She started to panic just a little. _Oh no what is he thinking? Should I have not pulled away? Have I made him think he did it wrong?_ Ari saw his gaze flick over her face and she had a moment of doubt when his expression blanked, but then his thumb ran across her jaw, his mouth twitched into a smile while his tongue wet over his lip briefly and to her surprise... he leant back down towards her and pulled her back to his lips.

Lancelot saw her expression start to change whilst he was in his stunned silence, staring back at her in an almost disbelief with what had just happened. His world had blurred but when he came back to he thought that he had made her doubt what he was wanting in his quietness. So he cupped her jaw a little tighter, dipped his head and brought them back together. He pulled her in to him before he let his mind run away and when they connected again he felt whole, he felt at home. This brutally soft woman had seen the deepest, darkest parts of him and she was not running away. 

Their lips collided with more passion than they had done before, startling Ari slightly with his newfound confidence but she did not back down. She fell towards him as she shifted closer and every fibre of her body wanted to claim him fully as her own. She gripped onto the cloth in her lap with her free hand for some kind of relief from the waves of tension growing inside of her as they chased the storm.

Lancelot’s skin tingled like it never had done before as a new and unusual impatience built within him at the touch of her fingertips brushing across the stubble on his jaw towards the nape of his neck, growing with increasing pressure as they moved backwards. He let her pull his head down to meet her, _God he just wanted to be closer_. The blood rushed to his cheeks, he had never been this vulnerable and all he wanted to do was open up and surrender to her. The flood of the storm tore through his body as he gave in to his queen, willingly drowning in the rains that fell in a death that felt like ecstasy. Something that felt rather like a sinful pleasure ran through his system and his senses awoke.

Some deeply buried part of him warned him to stop, to put his guard back up and retreat but he ignored it easily. He craved her closeness like he needed air and now that she was here willingly, he wasn’t going to let her go unless she said so. His nose brushed against hers as he angled himself further into the kiss, feeling the tension inside turn to butterflies as her lips moved against his and he returned the motion desperately. Lancelot let his thoughts dissipate away and his entire being and soul just surround itself in everything that she was. He poured everything that he could into letting her know how he feels. Every smile, every touch, every act of kindness that she had given him they all came down to this one thing that he was yet to realise,

He’s falling in love with her.

Ari’s heart skipped a beat as she felt the muscles of his neck move beneath her palm, felt the racing thread of his pulse under his skin. She did that to him, the man so still and calm and it made her body weaken in return. For every time that she had held herself back from reaching out, she’d only been building the flutters in her chest up higher and higher and now they were finally finding their release. She tried not to smile at the dusting of hair above his lip which grazed and tickled across her skin, at the unsettled ache within her core which swirled round and around restlessly as they collided with a passion so deep, she thought that she would never recover from the fall. Her body and mind melted under his touch and when his hand moved a little further, and his fingers threaded loosely into her hair as he kissed her a little harder, she shivered at the wave of stars he set in motion. _Was he sure that he hasn’t done this before?_

She needed to be closer, instinctively dropping the cloth she had been squeezing in her lap. Ari lifted herself without breaking their contact, her hand gripping a little tighter around the base of his head and one on his shoulder to keep her steady as she brought her leg up, straddling herself onto the cot with one foot still planted in the ground. Lancelot rose his chest up higher with her, letting her move as he tilted his head back to keep their lips together. Her bent knee rested in the bed behind him and she felt him twist into a position to face her more fully, lifting his own leg up beneath him.

Lancelot’s hand accidentally nudged over thigh as he went to steady himself with the new way that they were sitting. Ari felt how he tensed at the unintentional contact and almost broke away because of it, so she dropped her hand and caught onto his before he could pull away from her. She moved his hand back to where he had touched slowly, allowing him time to recognise what she was doing. Squeezing the back of his hand gently, she muttered _it’s alright_ between breaths against his lips and let go, running her unbound palm up the planes of his arm and across his shoulder to rest in the crook of his neck. She felt a warmth spread through her when a moment later she felt his fingers dig in lightly, his large hand gripping around her thigh. Her chest made a quiet noise somewhat resembling a moan as she smiled against his lips. The sparks that she had longed for again for so long rushed back through her veins with more fervour than she had ever remembered them doing.

He hadn’t intended to touch her that way, in his flustered state he had searched for an anchor and missed just slightly, catching the leg she had manoeuvred to just beside him. He would never want to push the blurring line too far so he retracted his hand away but she stopped him, placing his hand back onto her thigh. He felt his heartbeat stutter as he got a little more breathless than he already was. He hesitated for a moment, but the heat coming up through his palm was so enticing, and when she somehow reassured him that it was okay for him to touch her this way, he kissed her a little harder and let his fingers spread out in a gentle grip over her thigh. He felt her shudder at his touch and a sinful sense of pride rose up through his body as he smirked against her lips. 

Ari’s own fingers itched to reach out for him as she was allowing his to do, to grasp onto anything that she could get but it was too soon. She coaxed his mouth to follow as she parted her lips, daring to ask that they danced further in the eye of the storm. She felt Lancelot follow her lead instinctively when her lips parted, albeit a little clumsily at first as she deepened their kiss. The burning warmth of his hand come away from her thigh and skimmed up her side, past her shoulder and relaxed on the other side of her neck, fingertips fanning out as they held her. Her body tensed but not in displeasure as he found the sensitive spot beneath her ear and she felt her powers tingle unexpectedly in her palms, making the air catch in her throat. She pulled back slightly to catch a breath but kissed him again, _does he know that his hands cause such pleasure this way?_

Lancelot put his trust in her, in what she was doing when she parted his lips with her own and he let his follow, her tongue touching the inside of his wound with a heavenly sting. He twisted closer and ignored the pull on his ribs, lifted his hand lightly over her side and rested it beneath her ear. He heard her breath catch and she broke their kiss briefly, but as soon as she had lifted away she came back again, and her heated embrace slowed into something else.

They had been gentle, they had been desperate, and now was the reverence. It was not driven by nerves or lust, it was the yearning that they had known all along. It was steady and even, not too much and not too little but deep and strong and full of something that they would not name. They had felt the hunger, sat through the feast and now was the satisfaction, the basking in a feeling of fullness that no other could provide.

Lancelot felt Ari’s hand come up from his shoulder, her fingers spreading as she claimed his skin and threaded in the base of his hair. She didn’t grip too tightly but he wouldn’t have minded if she did, she just held him there as they fell through the air, off of the precipice and willingly into the abyss. Then a heat trailed down his body and his disorientated mind realised her other hand was no longer around his neck. Her fingers pressed gently against his chest and he felt the pool of forbidden tension in him fall lower.

They moved together, testing one another like they had done many times only this time it was different. Lancelot could feel the marks of his people glowing dimly beneath his skin as Ari’s nose pressed into them. The sensation was odd and as if it made him feel everything more strongly. Every tingle beneath his skin where her thumbs caressed, every blissful shiver down his spine and every time her lips pressed into his as they held one another became heightened in his senses. A thrum like thunder echoed through his nerves as his hand threaded higher carefully into her hair. He craved for more, to reach out and pull her into him even further, to feel her body against his again but the caged bird finally set free in his chest told him to wait. He was nervous to go further anyway, he didn’t know if he could. He wished so much that he could, but right now _this_ was enough and he knew that Ari wouldn’t push for something more. If he did not wake in the morning then he knows he would have died happy, his heart so full with the feeling of her and her soul and nothing else. Ari let out a soft moan against his lips in a way he had never heard before and they broke apart reluctantly for air, letting their foreheads rest against each other’s naturally.

Ari chuckled out a breath or two with her mind finally coming back to her as her tongue quickly ran over her lips. She had always thrived in battle but she never knew that blood and war could taste so divine. Her heart ticked away as she regained control. It felt so good to have someone that she cared for this way again, and to have them care for her the same way in return. She’d closed off her heart for so long that she couldn’t quite believe that _the Weeping Monk_ was now the one holding the key. Ari had wished that one day the raging sea inside of her would calm and be nothing more than the gentle ebb and flow of an evening tide, and in that moment of bliss as she pressed her forehead against his, she felt it all just ripple away.

They were quiet for a moment, catching their breaths as they held onto each other, warm and hazy eyes drifting shut to just savour what they could. Their faces shook subtly as the tips of their noses brushed almost playfully, if anything it was a sweet gesture and Ari could do nothing but smile. She knew that Lancelot was nervous for this but by the way he had kissed her, with such intensity yet gentleness that emulated exactly who he was as a man, she couldn’t tell. Her fingers ran back and pushed the few stray curls behind his ears and she heard him hum in his chest in response.All she wanted was for him to be happy, to be at peace with the world like he was when he slept. She would give anything up in a heartbeat to give him that. 

_“Would you want to know about such things?” she had asked gingerly._

_“I would not know what to do,” he had responded tentatively_.

 _Liar,_ she teased in her mind as it replayed the conversation and what exactly had just happened between them. The rush through her system finally started to settle. The feeling of his kiss lingered on her lips and her heart jumped knowing that it now belonged to her. His hands on her neck, in her hair, holding with a contradicting firm yet delicate pressure... she just wanted them to hold her instead, to not be afraid and to take what was his.

Lancelot sighed with an overwhelming contempt, _he had kissed her_. He had broken his vow and he did not feel the hellfire, could not see the devil’s face like he was told that he would when he did. He felt his breaths slowing down and found that his thumb had sought out to trace over her lips once more, a silent claim that she was his. Ari had asked if he had wanted to know such things as this and now that he did, he didn’t want to forget it. He didn’t want to forget what this feels like, her lips on his and the world washing away so easily. He dared not open his eyes just yet. A lazy smile tugged on his mouth as his cheeks burned up, realising that he didn’t know what was supposed to happen now. 

“I don’t know how to do this,” he whispered apologetically, _worriedly_ about what Ari would think of him. He doesn’t know how the words even came out of his flustered mind but they did. He had been a monk, and there were certain vows which he had always obeyed. He knew vaguely of the practicalities of intimate relations of course, the _physical_ things at least, he just hadn’t done them. He didn’t want to have disappointed her with his naivety this way.

Ari smiled softly as she peeked at the blush spreading across his cheeks. Her thumb ran back and forth beneath his ear absentmindedly, careful of the wound across his neck. If he had ever thought that his markings could hide that reaction, the reddening flush of his face, then he was certainly wrong.

“That’s okay,” she reassured him, her nose brushing softly against his. Ari knew of Lancelot’s previous vows and she wanted to respect him. She wanted him, all of him, but she would not do anything that he didn’t want to do. Ari was a patient woman, and she was willing to wait for him for as long as it took, and perhaps some things would never fully come, but that would be okay.

They would need to talk about this when he wasn’t beaten and bloody. Lancelot needed for once in his life to not get hurt by somebody he trusted and Ari understood this. He was physically strong but emotionally vulnerable in this sense, he had no knowledge of how to approach the kind of connection they had found themselves nurturing. She did not want to hurt him, _intentionally or otherwise_.

Lancelot leant away a little from her to look into her golden eyes, down to her reddening lips and back up again to her eyes. She seemed to glow in the candlelight and for a moment he thought that he might be holding the sun in his hands. His heart swelled within his chest with the genuine, soft smile across her face, his fingers now resting again within her hair as his thumb moved back and forth over her jaw in a casual caress that was so new and yet felt like he’d done it all his life. If angels could fall then so too could demons it seems, and he had fallen for her.

He opened his mouth to speak, but then a loud snore came from the other side of the division and they were reminded that they were not alone.

Lancelot removed his hand quickly from where her hair met her neck and Ari found that she missed the warmth of his touch immediately. They both turned to the noise and then to each other and Ari stifled her chuckle at the look of horror spreading across Lancelot’s flustered face. She didn’t think she would ever see him look so openly terrified of little Squirrel. She dropped her hand on the boy’s side of Lancelot’s body down to her lap, silently giving him a way out if he wanted to.

Lancelot looked away from her in embarrassment before clearing his throat quietly. He was thankful that the dim candlelight didn’t show just how much his face was burning up.

“I should, erh,” he cleared his throat again as if he was truly nervous of her, of what they had done. His hands pulled down into his lap as he adjusted himself back properly onto the edge of her cot.

“I should go,” he smiled weakly back at her, as if he didn’t want to leave her. _He didn’t_ , but he did not know exactly where the lines and boundaries were between them now. He didn’t think that he was ready yet to embrace anything more and he didn’t want to presume that she would offer such things, but that didn’t mean that he wanted to leave her. He had tested the water that he was drinking from, and found it was actually wine.

“You’re not exactly going very far,” she whispered gently, her thumb brushing back and forth affectionately where it still rested by his jaw. Lancelot laughed quietly in response and her heart clenched within its cage at the sound.

“Yeah,” he sighed under his breath, his eyes bashfully not quite meeting hers. Ari dropped her hand down to her lap with a sad sort of smile and let him go. He stood carefully off of her cot, picking up his shirt, overcoat and tunic from the edge and made his way over to the end of the division in the tent. Ari felt empty as soon as he left her side, like a part of her was now missing.

Lancelot stopped his feet and turned his head back to Ari, who apparently had watched with a heartachingly soft expression as he walked away. The butterflies danced within his stomach as he gave her a genuinely warm smile before disappearing out of view. He didn’t know how exactly he was supposed to sleep tonight after how they had just kissed like that.

Ari did not want to let him go, she craved to have just one thing more, one more moment with him. He did not know how he already held every single piece of her in his hands. In her mind she ran to him, she called him back and kissed him again... but she let it go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ASDFGHJKL THEY DID THAT! THAT! THEY DID IT! Well you asked for it... I’m sorry I’m such a tease but isn’t it more fun this way? Does this make up for Squirrel's interruption in the last chapter? I hope that the pain was worth it. I can't tell you how many times I rewrote this thing.  
> There was so much more that I could have thrown in but I guess I should hold some things back for later... If you're on tumblr and want to scream with me I'm @captainbucky-yt :)


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